Royal retreat
by stormus
Summary: Following the backlash of one of his bright ideas, Arthur and Merlin find themselves stranded in Lot's kingdom. With an enemy patrol, and an entire camp of wronged bandits blocking their escape through the woods, they've no choice but to get word to Camelot and wait for rescue. Yet, that may be easier said than done... (set between series 4 & 5)
1. This is all your fault, Merlin!

**_One_**

* * *

TREES, shrubs, creepers all rushed by in a blur, roots hidden in the thick leaf mould enemies to speed and twigs snapping ruining any chance of silent running. The pair of them pounded through the woods, flying through clearings and across game trails in a mix of running, stumbling and limbs flailing for balance. Arthur charged on in as straight a line as he could manage, arms pumping, sword waving about in one hand, glinting in the late afternoon sun. He hopped a log and put on a burst of speed, head down, grim determination set on his face. He was fighting fit, he was on a second wind, adrenaline racing around his system powering him onwards.

A dull knock and muffled curse behind him denoted Merlin falling over the log and crashing headlong into the pile of leaves resting on one side of it. Arthur would have been worried, if not for the loud scuffling and cracking of twigs that meant Merlin was on his feet and following.

It was a shame, Arthur found himself thinking, that Merlin was so damn clumsy. His servant was fast – probably faster than he was himself, though it would be a cold day in hell before Arthur ever admitted it – if he didn't fall over _everything_, they would probably have gotten away by now. Arthur hazarded a glance behind.

Sure enough, there was Merlin half-running, half-falling after him, long out of breath, and behind him the entire camp of bandits, and the patrol belonging to Lot, roaring along waving swords, spears and axes above their heads. He faced forwards, dodging around a bramble bush that Merlin inevitably crashed through in his wake.

_Alright,_ so _maybe_ taking the open path down from the ridge of Essetir had not been his brightest idea, and _maybe_ leading the patrol into the woods and straight through the middle of the bandit camp that had kept him out of the woods in the first place had not been his most inspired, but _come on_! How was he to know that the bandits and the patrol would actually join forces rather than kill each other!? Who could have seen _that_ coming? None of this could really be called _his_ fault!

If _Mer_lin hadn't been whining so loud about _not_ going into the woods in the first place, the patrol wouldn't have found them, they wouldn't have _had_ to go into the woods, he wouldn't have fallen off Spumador, Merlin wouldn't have fallen off that shabby gelding of his trying to get Arthur onto it behind him, his backside wouldn't be sore and they would have been able to go on their merry way unmolested.

Clearly this was all Merlin's fault.

That in mind: "Merlin!" He bellowed over his shoulder at his half-dead manservant, "This is all your fault!"

He expected the indecipherable grumbling, and concentrated on sprinting ahead when it came.

That second wind was fading fast now, a stitch aching in his side. He couldn't keep this up much longer, he knew it. Looking to get onto a smaller, harder to follow path, Arthur veered away to the left onto an overgrown old trail. Stupid woods that stupid Merlin had wanted to go into. He didn't even know where they ended, didn't know any hiding places. Where was he even supposed to run to?

A snap and crash behind drew him to look round and see that a branch had somehow come down, knocking several bandits over and a few of Lot's men from their horses. Merlin didn't seem to have noticed, just kept on run-stumbling, very red and sour faced. A few more bandits fell over their collapsed fellows and flailed in a heap trying to get up. Arthur wanted to grin, but clenched his teeth and ran on instead. That was lucky.

He turned from the trail between two bramble bushes covered in pretty white flowers and abruptly found himself looking down into a chasm. Well, maybe 'chasm' wasn't quite the word. It was more like a steep sided canyon, a little path running through about twenty feet down. He glanced across, debating whether or not it would be too far to jump. If he did, and he made it, then it may slow the men on foot and would stop the remaining horses altogether.

… thoughts of horses made him think of Spumador. Stupid thing had better be alright. It was more accident prone than Merlin on a bad day. Just had to hope today was a good day.

Commotion behind heralded Merlin's arrival through the brambles. He stumbled to a halt beside Arthur and glared at him with all the ferocity he could muster whilst dying. "Why do you never listen to me?!"

Arthur didn't answer, studying the gap ahead closely. Merlin didn't seem to care and whittered on regardless.

"You never listen to me! You always know best, whatever the situation. Why, for once in your life, could you have not just listened to me?!"

"Shut up, Merlin."

"Let's go down in full view of every pair of eyes for miles. Let's not go through the woods, where we'd be covered, and quicker because it's a _shortcut_, like _Merlin_ says. If we'd done what _I _suggested, we'd probably be there by now, but _oh no._ _You_ never listen to me."

"This is no time to start a tiff, Merlin."

Arthur heard the sound of approaching hostiles behind and started zigzagging back and forth along the canyon top in search of a way down. They could maybe jump it, but it wasn't guaranteed. Going down would stop the horses, but not many of the men, though he didn't know where the path at the bottom led. Could be into a dead end for all he knew. What to do? What to do!?

"Over or down?" He muttered to himself through gritted teeth.

A loud crash from the brambles behind had him whirling round just in time to catch a downward strike from the sword of a bandit and grab the man's shirt to send him hurtling down into the canyon below. Arthur released the breath he had been holding and looked up to see the other bandits and what remained of Lot's patrol approaching the small gap between the bushes. He paled. They weren't slowing down...

Aware that he had to make a decision there and then he looked at Merlin with the aim of gauging how tired his servant was. To his relief (and chagrin), Merlin was breathing heavily, but able to glare back at him with a high and mighty air, his ridiculous skinny arms folded petulantly over his chest. Before Arthur could say anything, Merlin spoke, "_Now_ are you ready to listen to me?"

The king did not nod, but neither did he shake his head. Good enough for Merlin. "Right." Merlin reached for Arthur's belt and grabbed his dagger. Tossing it back to the king he snatched a second one from Arthur's boot. Without pausing to explain, Merlin bolted towards the canyon and leapt. Arthur followed suit, just as the first wave of bandits flattened the smashed brambles behind.

The both of them hit the ridge on the far side and sunk their daggers into the earth. They hauled themselves up and Arthur let out an umbrageous squeak of protest as Merlin's hand clamped around his wrist and pulled him away into the sun dappled woods beyond.

The jangle of weapons and chain mail behind, and a quick glance back revealed the bandits to be following over the chasm. The patrol remained on the other side, apparently not willing to leave their horses.

Arthur faced forwards, getting a stinging swipe across the face and a mouthful of hazel leaves for his trouble. There was going to be a branch shaped mark across his nose and forehead, and it stung like billio. Enraged, he spat out the leaves. "Merlin!"

But now his servant wasn't listening to _him_ and continued dragging him through the woods as fast as his stick legs would carry him.

"Bog!"

"What?" Arthur soon found out, Merlin springing lightly across the tufts of green grass, his own feet splashing down in the thick, sludgy dark mud between. "MER-LIN!"

"Come on!" Exactly how they managed it, neither could be entirely sure, but between them Arthur managed to scramble out of the chest-deep filth and up onto solid ground. They were up and running again as the pursuing men became acquainted with the mud.

Merlin was still dragging him. While that annoyed Arthur, they _were_ putting a little distance between themselves and the bandits, and though he must be close to dropping, Merlin was trying his underfed heart out. Arthur felt an inane giggle bubbling up in his throat. He was right. When Merlin wasn't falling over everything he _was _fast.

Suddenly, Arthur stumbled, off-footed as Merlin changed direction, veering right and down a very steep slope. Oh Lord. This was not going to end well.

To his eternal surprise, neither of them fell there either. In fact it was Merlin who unwittingly demonstrated how to negotiate the obstacle by skidding down onto his side and sliding down the worn dry mud in the centre. They landed on their feet and stumbled away along a small path almost overgrown with lush ferns.

Shouts above, and loud bumping noises were exactly what Arthur wanted to hear as a few of the bandits had trouble with the slope. He didn't look back, though, focusing intently ahead on Merlin's dusty back. Why did the idiot have to be dry still? Why did it have to be _him_ to fall in the mud? There were clods of foul bog filth clinging to his chain mail, and his boots were soaking and squelched with every step. It really wasn't fair.

Merlin led off the path suddenly, through a tall patch of bracken and towards the thicker tree line on the other side. The ground began to drop away in a gentle slope; an old path, worn away into a deep groove by years and years of use. The bracken growing on the intact , grassy sides was soon above their heads, screening them from view to the hill above.

_'Great.' _Arthur found himself moaning internally. _ 'Bracken. Probably littered with adders. Last thing we need. Well done, Merlin.'_

Oblivious to the silent grumbling, Merlin changed direction again, towing Arthur left through the trees and out of the bracken, unconsciously nullifying the unspoken adder threat.

The sounds of pursuit were quite distant now, the occasional, very faint _'shing'_ of steel likely the bandits laying waste to the bracken patch in search of their quarry. As said quarry, Arthur was more than a little relieved to be far from the carnage.

He and Merlin emerged from the trees onto a river bank and followed the water for a few minutes before turning across a small, rickety bridge and ducking into the trees on the other side. The bandits were left behind by now, though Merlin seemed to have no intention of stopping just yet. Up ahead, through the trees, Arthur could see what appeared to be the edge of another canyon... and Merlin wasn't slowing down...

"Merlin?"

No. Not slowing at all, or stopping for that matter. Arthur stumbled after him, legs like jelly and moving too fast under Merlin's forward momentum to pull back and stop. Oh no. His heart sank. He wasn't? Merlin wasn't going to...? …! The other side was at least twice as far as the first canyon, and they had only just made that one. Merlin wasn't going to try and? He wasn't seriously?! Arthur's eyes flew wide.

Yes. Yes he was.

"MERLIN!"

They took off into space, flying out through open air, not going to make it! They fell. About five feet.

Arthur crashed down on his side in a clatter of armour, and curled in on himself, winded. Damn him! Merlin was going to pay for this.

Before he could recover his breath, hands grabbed him – obnoxiously bony hands, as if it were even possible for hands to be obnoxiously bony, Merlin's would be by far the most obnoxiously bony hands in existence – and tugged him backwards. Aching, Arthur went, skittering back into an overhang beneath the 'canyon's' edge.

He sat back against the earthen wall and looked over to see Merlin sitting propped adjacent to him, his face bordered by dry roots.

Silent, Merlin held a finger to his own lips and glanced upwards.

It wasn't a very large hole that they sat in. More a deep dent underneath the path above. Probably an old badger sett that had been weathered away and fallen open over time. Whatever it was, Arthur was grateful for it, even if it was no wider and taller than his wardrobe. He did have to wonder, how exactly Merlin had known that it would be there. If he were to ask, he would have got no answer. Merlin was still ignoring him in favour of gazing intently at the ceiling of their refuge. Voices overhead soon explained why:

"Where'd they get to?"

"Prob'ly following the river towards the cave. Reckoning they can hide away in there."

"How'd they know about it?"

"After the dance they just led us?"

"... Good point."

The voices began to move away, still rabbiting on about the cave, wherever that was.

Arthur shifted one leg, arm clutched tight across his aching ribs. Neither he nor Merlin spoke for several minutes, each taking the time to ensure that the bandits had in fact moved away permanently, and to catch their wind.

Once they were suitably recovered, Merlin took a deep breath, savoured it, and exhaled. He glanced briefly at the king before leaning forward and patting Arthur's muddy boot. "Come on."

With a grimace, Arthur got to his knees to crawl forward out of the dent and stand. He felt like hell. Aching, tired out, horseless and smothered in mud. Merlin was stood a couple of feet away, his hands braced on his hips as he recovered the last of his breath. Looking disgustingly carefree, all things considered.

Arthur ground his teeth, and stumbled forwards grasping for Merlin's shoulder. He found purchase and turned his manservant to face him, sticking a finger in his face. "I swear, Merlin. If you ever do anything like that again-"

"We're alive." Merlin retorted, flinging his arms out to the sides as thought to demonstrate the fact. "No thanks to you!"

"Excuse me-"

"Not to mention this whole thing was your fault in the first place ! If you had just listened to me-"

"The woods were infested with bandits, _Mer_lin!"

"And they still are, so stop shouting if you don't want to give away our position!"

"You're shouting too!"

"I know!"

They both fell silent, and glared at one another. Arthur glared at Merlin, who glared back at him and refused to stop glaring. This was clearly all Merlin's fault, and feeling as righteously indignant about the whole situation as he did, Arthur refused to back down first. No way was he backing down first.

So they glared at each other for a full two minutes before Merlin threw his hands up in the air and walked off along the little canyon. Arthur started after him, incredulous, though still glad that he had won the battle of the glares. "Where are you going?"

"Away."

Unaware of their doing so, Arthur's feet began to move, following along after his angry manservant. "Away where?"

"Away from clot pole kings."

Arthur openly snorted at that and quickened his pace to catch up with Merlin. "We're in the middle of nowhere, Merlin, or have you forgotten that little fact?"

Merlin didn't answer. Just folded his arms over his chest and sped up into a faster walk.

Arthur sped up a little more also. "We're lost in enemy territory. Lot's men are hunting us and a whole camp of bandits are out for our blood. There is no 'away'."

Still no answer.

With a huff, Arthur tried again. The idiot was going to get himself killed wandering around the woods if he didn't stop and listen. If that were to happen, Arthur knew he would have to go through the rigmarole of finding a new servant. That would be a pain. He could end up with George, heaven forbid. There were definitely better things to do with his days. Plus Guinevere would probably cry, and he never liked to see that happen... and, maybe if he was to tentatively admit it to himself, he would miss the bumbling, incompetent oaf. Yes, it would be too much of a hassle to have to get used to clothes without creases. His skin had grown sensitive to fabric that didn't have folds places it shouldn't. He had to keep Merlin alive. He tried a different approach.

"So," Arthur intoned, perhaps sounding more bored than casual, "when you get 'away', what are you going to do?"

"Go to bed."

"Go to bed?"

"That's what I said."

Oh, for crying out loud!

The path led up a small rise and back into the trees. Arthur scrambled up it after Merlin, still disbelieving of how someone could be so thick-headed and stick to their convictions so strongly purely for the sake of it. As annoying as Merlin could be when he prattled, Arthur had to acknowledge that his silent treatment was worse. It made him want to grind his teeth.

"So 'away'." He began, grinning inwardly at the immediate and very visible slump of Merlin's shoulders. "This 'away' you're going to. It has beds, and presumably something to eat?"

"Presumably."

"Well good." Arthur ran a few steps to catch up. " Because after you dragged me hell for leather through the woods, dropped me in a bog and pulled me off a cliff, I definitely need a good night's sleep and a hot meal."

Merlin gave a snort, and slowed his pace to allow Arthur to fall into step beside him. "Don't know if there's enough food for you too."

"Well, that's easily settled. I'll just have your share." As much as he would never say it, Arthur was pleased to see a smile on Merlin's face at that. "Then again, with the measly portions you eat to maintain your girlish figure, I doubt somehow it would be enough for me."

The smile became a grin, directed at Arthur with a turn of the head in equal parts innocent and filled with mischief. "I doubt there could ever be enough for you, Sire."

With feigned annoyance, Arthur folded his arms around himself (perhaps a little self-consciously, though he would never admit that). He did take the opportunity to bump Merlin with his shoulder as he walked, knocking the servant sideways a little. Of course, as expected, Merlin retaliated with a bump of his own. So Arthur did the only decent thing, and bumped him back twice as hard. He didn't so much as miss a stride as Merlin careened sideways to collapse in the bracken growing between the trees, and probably the adders that frequented it in Arthur's mind.

As soon as Merlin stumbled back onto the track and caught up, Arthur knew that he was alright. More so at the shin swipe he received. There was no need to retaliate further. Merlin had got the message with his journey into the foliage, so the king let it lie. At least Merlin was out of his prissy huff.

While they walked, heading along the brow of another little hill before turning down a small, winding path to the tree line, Arthur couldn't help but feel a little worried. Here they were, horseless and wandering around in enemy territory with no way of contacting the knights back at Camelot. Only the select few knew that he was out in Lot's lands, being a secret mission that Arthur had decided to undertake himself, to vigorous protests. With Merlin along too, of course. Their situation really wasn't all that great, and _maybe_ it wasn't _entirely_ Merlin's fault. The idiot had managed to get them away from the bandits, which was rather impressive. Even if it had involved falling in a bog.

With a grimace Arthur remembered the squelching in his boots and began to feel a little less charitable. As soon as he could take them off, Merlin was going to clean them. Thoroughly. Twice.

Back to the matter in hand. They were lost in hostile territory. Spumador was probably upside down in a ditch somewhere, as was Bryn. Loathe to admit it as he was, Merlin's black gelding was by far the smarter horse (it had to be to make up for its master), so if they were in trouble it was probably Spumador's fault. Quite the reverse from their masters' predicament. Without the horses, he and Merlin were very much stuck for the time being. Escaping bandits and patrols intent on gutting them was not an easy task on foot, as they had just discovered.

If only they could get word to Camelot. Yes, Guinevere would be furious, and the knights would tease him about it and his undoubted banishment to the guest chambers on the other side of the castle with no small cajoling from Merlin, but once they were safely home the danger would have passed.

"Unless we find the horses we're stuck here overnight." He said aloud to Merlin suddenly, discomfited by the thought of taking turns on bandit watch, and sleeping without blankets. His cloak was on the horse too. Stupid, flighty beast. Called itself a war horse? He broke from his disparaging thoughts about his disgraced steed to frown at Merlin's flat reply.

"I'm aware of that."

"So we ought to make camp."

"No."

"... No?" Arthur halted, staring at Merlin's back as his manservant kept on walking. "Why not? What's the alternative? Fall down in the nearest ditch and hope it's comfortable enough?"

Merlin did halt then, and looked back at Arthur impassively over his shoulder. "I told you. Bed."

"Bed?" Arthur hurried after him as he began walking again, down towards the tree line. "Have you been at the cider, again? Did you actually _bring it with you_ this time?"

What was this? Since when had _Mer_lin been giving the orders? It wasn't up to him to decide what they did. Arthur was the king, not _Merlin_. He should be giving the orders and making the decisions. Then again, since the first 'chasm' (and only 'chasm', for the sake of accuracy it had barely qualified as a 'chasm' in the first place really, but that was neither here nor there) Merlin had been giving the orders and making the decisions. In fact, Merlin had led the way all through the woods and facilitated their escape from the bandits and the patrol. In some strange, round about, upside down and inside out world they had managed to stumble into, Merlin was verging on brave and intelligent. Also on the tree line, way ahead of where Arthur had fallen behind in his sarcastic musings. The king hurried to catch up with his stomping manservant, recalling where he had been in the conversation prior to the mental tangent he had wandered off on. "What do you mean bed?"

Before he could demand an answer he broke out of the woods and came to a halt where Merlin stood on the brow of a gentle, grassy slope. Arthur couldn't help but think that he looked particularly smug the way he stood with arms still folded, one eyebrow very slightly quirked in a proto-Gaius, looking down the hill.

So Arthur followed his line of sight, to find out what it was that had such an irritating smirk plastered over Merlin's pale – and oh so punchable – face.

Ah. Didn't he feel a little foolish.

Noting the interesting twitch of his king's face, Merlin flicked his eyebrow and nodded, slowly and deliberately as though encouraging Arthur to keep up. "I mean bed."

Without waiting for acknowledgement or opinion, Merlin started away down the hill to the flat where the simple houses and farmland of Ealdor nestled peacefully in the late afternoon sun.

Arthur huffed and followed, running a few steps to keep up.

Right, so. Perhaps Merlin wasn't brave and heroic, and intelligent. He was a cheat, and a sneak. He had known exactly where they were all along, hadn't he? All his wailing and whingeing about listening to him was actually justified. That display in the forest was not what it seemed. Taking charge? Showing leadership? Pfft!

Arthur let his shoulders slump and relaxed a little. The perceived threat to his manliness and inborn authority had passed. He knew that he was just being petulant. Just like he knew that Merlin was brave, and far from stupid. In this instance, though he would NEVER admit it, he was glad that he had listened to Merlin. Occasionally, when he wasn't acting the fool, or doing something... utterly bizarre, Merlin was capable of showing his intelligence, and of doing things right. This was one of those occasions. Looking back on it all, Arthur found himself quite impressed. Merlin didn't need to know that, however. It would just go to his head. Nope. Not necessary to divulge _that_ information at all.

Also, there were more pressing matters at hand. His stomach was growling for one. So, with a whistle, he cuffed Merlin lightly round the back of his fluffy dark head, tripped him over with a sneakily placed ankle, and broke into a shaky run down the hill.

"Oi!" Merlin was up and after him, laughing like an excited child as Arthur himself grinned, both of them tearing down the hill. Yes, the prospect of food and bed was definitely better than the ditch and bandit watch option, and Arthur was glad. Really, really glad that he had brought his idiotic, incredibly stupid, brave, wise man of a servant along as extra luggage. Really glad.

…

… Stupid, handy Merlin.

* * *

**FUN FACT:** Arthur's horse really was called 'Spumador'.

First 'Merlin' story. I have never used so many Italics in _anything_ before. _Ever_. So many _Italics_.


	2. Somewhere safe and warm

_TWO_

* * *

Being late summer most of the villagers would be out around the fields. It was harvest time and things needed doing. Crops needed threshing, vegetables digging up and the fields preparing for the next planting. There was a feeling of emptiness around the houses and sheds, but it did not take away from the village's warmth and welcoming atmosphere. In the wonderful, warm sun, how could it?

Merlin breathed deep, enjoying the rich, earthy scent of drying grass and wild flowers. The scent of home. It had been some time since he had been back, and it was never until he walked the warm paths and meandered around the edges of the small gardens that he realised just how much he had missed it. Maybe he never really had fit in, and maybe he had been away for a long time, but it was no less home. So was Camelot, now, with its bustling streets and friendly faces who knew him by sight and name, but so was Ealdor, with its nature and sleepy way of life. It felt good to be back.

Arthur wandered along behind him, silently wondering where everyone was. He knew that Ealdor was quiet, but this was almost ghostly. The silence felt oppressive. It cloyed around him, making him fidget in discomfort. He didn't much like it – had to say something to break it. Anything.

Shuddering in the early evening sun, he cleared his throat. "So, the paths through the woods?"

A few paces ahead of him, Merlin gave a light shrug. "Will and I used to play in those woods all the time." He answered casually, covertly swallowing the lump that formed in his throat at the thought of his childhood friend. "You know. Building dens, and playing pretend."

Arthur nodded. "Ah! War."

Merlin shook his head. "Nah. Farming."

"... Farming?"

"And making places for animals. Birds, bunnies. That sort of thing."

Incredulous, Arthur didn't know whether to laugh or cry hearing that. "You really are a _girl_, Merlin."

"Better a girl than an arrogant, pompous toad."

Arthur grinned, but he didn't say anything to that. He did wonder if maybe Merlin's childhood activities had contributed in any way to his dislike of hunting.

"Anyway," Merlin went on, "Didn't play war. We're raised to be farmers here, not warriors."

"I know." Arthur did know. He hadn't forgotten how hard it had been to train the village's men to wield even the simplest of weapons to any degree of competency. He still hadn't gotten Merlin properly trained with a sword to the level he would like, despite his best efforts.

"So you do what you know." Merlin continued in his explanation, plucking an extra long piece of grass from over a garden wall and twiddling it back and forth between his fingers as he walked. "Pretend to tend your patch, and look out for the wildlife. That's how Will and I found the badger sett. There was a whole clan of them in there. We used to watch them and their young ones for hours. Once it collapsed, they left and we dug it out to use as a den."

"Sounds like fun."

And it did.

Arthur found himself slightly envious. As a prince he had not been allowed to go off and play unsupervised. He was always watched by a nurse or a minder, and when allowed to play with another child it was always somebody approved by his father. They never wanted to do anything fun, or exciting. It was all sitting in the castle reading books, or practising instruments. Thinking back, it led him to a rather uncomfortable conclusion. Noble children were extremely boring. Realising that, it made him feel a little like he had when Merlin had implied that knights were idiots. He was a nobleman, and a knight...

It was true about noble children, though. He remembered that he had once got into trouble with his father for poking Lord Roderick's son, Robin in the eye with a wooden sword Gaius had given him as a present. Sometimes he had been allowed to play with Leon, but their games had never lasted long. Leon was always that bit older than him physically, and far too mature mentally. His parents, Lord Harold and Lady Margaret had used to say that Leon was born an old man. As a result he was far too sensible to allow Arthur to have any real fun.

Though he had let him get covered in mud a few times. Something Arthur was well aware that he had since grown out of as he remembered how slimy and uncomfortable he felt now, after his encounter with the bog.

He almost made a cutting remark about it to Merlin, how it was all his fault etcetera, but decided against it. He wanted to see if his friend/servant was going to say anything further about his childhood. Secretly, Arthur was enjoying it and wanted to hear about it. There was something quieting and calming in the images that came with hearing about life in simpler times. From the silence it appeared that Merlin was done, and that disappointed Arthur somewhat.

They wandered on, Arthur following Merlin past the pig pen and down the path by the well towards the edge of the village. After their mad dash away from the enemy, both of them felt a little the worse for wear in the energy department. Rest sounded like a wonderful idea.

So it was with no small relief that they turned off the path towards the small house with the low bench just outside the door.

Inside, Hunith had been making bread, kneading it on the kitchen table. Spying movement outside the window, she looked up. A dark head of messy hair bimbled past in a familiar loping motion that sometimes passed for a walk and her heart skipped a beat in recognition.

She threw the dough down on the tabletop and hurried to the door, wiping her floury hands on her smock.

Before Merlin could reach for the door it was wrenched open and Hunith stood there, staring up at him almost in disbelief.

"... Merlin."

He smiled, "Mother" and laughed softly as she rushed forward and threw her arms around his neck.

"Oh, Merlin."

"Sorry we're unannounced."

Hunith shook her head against his shoulder, and held him even tighter.

Arthur looked on, perhaps a little jealously. He had never envied Merlin much, but he had always envied him this. Seeing Merlin and Hunith together always reminded him of what he had missed, not having his own mother in his life.

After a moment, Hunith drew back a little from Merlin and looked up into his face. "My Merlin. It's been a while since you were here last."

"I'm sorry." He apologised, hanging his head as though he had somehow failed her. "I meant to come sooner."

"Shhh." She rubbed a thumb over his cheekbone, a smile still on her face. "I understand. I _do_ get your letters, you know."

Seeing her smile, Merlin found one of his own and pulled her back into his embrace.

Once they parted, Hunith patted his arm lovingly and turned to the King. "Arthur."

To his surprise, she stepped forward and threw her arms around his neck also. Unsure of what to do, he raised his arms shakily and returned her embrace. The longer she held him, the more of his uncertainty drained away. He let his eyes slip closed, and tightened his arms around her, his chin dropping to rest on her shoulder. "It's good to see you again, Hunith."

"And you." She murmured beside his ear. "Tell me. Has he been looking after you?"

Arthur opened his eyes and looked briefly at Merlin to see his friend looking back at him with both eyebrows raised, prompting a good answer. "Yes."

"Why are you muddy?"

"... He dropped me in a bog."

She breathed a sigh that trembled suspiciously like barely contained laughter, and shook her head lightly beside his.

Too soon for Arthur, Hunith released him. She looked up at him and smiled, touching her hand to his cheek in much the same way she had Merlin's, leaving a floury hand print there.

He really was in a state. She noticed the full extent of the filth and pieces of woodland detritus that had become lodged and mashed into his chainmail, and shot a glance over her shoulder at Merlin, noting the small bramble scratches up his neck, and the tear in the knee of his trousers. "What have you two been up to?"

She did not wait for an answer, taking Arthur's gloved hand and reaching for Merlin's. "Come on. Both of you inside and sorted out. There's fresh honey cake on the table, and milk in the jug."

Arthur's stomach growled ferociously at the thought of cake. He allowed Hunith to tow him inside, very much looking forward to getting cleaned up, fed and rested. Maybe he hadn't been the greatest fan of Hunith's porridge before, but just then he wouldn't say no if honey cake had not been available. He was just glad to be able to rest.

* * *

Immediately they had stepped inside, Hunith had directed Merlin towards the buckets of water near the grate and instructed him to warm one for Arthur while she searched out a towel.

It wasn't long before Merlin returned with the bucket and set up a sheet that the king may have somewhere private to wash and change.

_'Strange...'_ Arthur found himself thinking as he splashed water on his face and through his lank hair, _'Hunith always makes us feel so welcome. She welcomed Guinevere in her time of need. She cares for us all so unconditionally.' _he knew both why it was that she offered such hospitality, and why it seemed so strange. It had nothing to do with his status – she likely couldn't care less that he was a king – and everything to do with Merlin. She reminded him of Merlin in his less surly moments. Or should he say that Merlin reminded him of Hunith? It was easy to see that she had raised him.

Once he was cleaned up, and a towel wrapped around his waist, he reached for the blanket discarded on the back of a nearby chair and draped it around his shoulders. He flumped down hard in the chair and sighed, glad to be off his feet. They needed a rest It had been a long time since he had last needed to run like that. Unconscious of his actions, he glanced down at his waist, examining its size absently.

Tonight he and Merlin would rest. Tomorrow they would go out searching for Bryn and Spumador, find them, and hopefully be able to head back to Camelot. Guinevere would be furious with him for going off the way he had, of course. For endangering himself so.

His lips quirked. She would give him the 'Camelot needs its king' speech. While she was right, he couldn't just sit in the citadel and send everyone else off to fight his battles and protect his lands for him. He couldn't be a lethargic ruler in that respect. It didn't suit him, and it didn't feel right. A king should lead by example, and serve his people. Not just sit there and expect everyone else to run his kingdom and attend to his every whim.

Frowning, he glanced at the small gap in the sheet where it met the wall. He was starving. Merlin had better be getting a move on with that cake.

Likely not, if he was hearing correctly.

Beyond the curtain he could hear Hunith talking to Merlin.

Curious, Arthur turned his head to see them through the small gap in the sheet. The moment he laid eyes on them, all murderous thoughts of flying goblets and Merlin's thick, empty head fled.

They sat at the kitchen table, Merlin slumped back in his chair as though completely exhausted, his head tilted far to one side as his mother gently cleaned the red scratches on his neck with a damp cloth. Hunith appeared to be concentrating very hard on her work, and on not hurting her son judging by the light, gentle strokes of the cloth over his raw skin.

"You need to be more careful." Arthur heard her say, only a soft undertone of reprimand to her voice.

"I don't mean to be clumsy." Merlin murmured in reply, a little defensive but more genuine in apology. Hunith chuckled softly.

"I know you don't, Merlin. It's just how you're made."

She worked at his neck a few moments longer, before laying aside the wet cloth and reaching for a dry one. Gently, she began to dab away the dampness. "You don't get it from me, that much is certain."

Arthur saw Merlin's eyebrows rise, his friend's face the picture of astonishment. "Really?"

Hunith nodded, a fond smile on her face. "Yes. He's all to blame for that one."

From the table she picked up a jar of salve and carefully began to apply it to each scratch with gentle fingertips. "He didn't really fit in here, either. Always trying to help everyone out, and always making things worse." She sighed wistfully, and shook her head at her own words.

Beside her, Merlin snorted, though there was no mirth behind it. "Sounds familiar."

Frowning, Arthur turned in his chair to face the gap and rest his chin in one hand. He couldn't help wondering, and he couldn't be sure, but … were they talking about Merlin's father? He shouldn't be listening, Arthur knew, but he couldn't help it. He was intrigued.

"I can't imagine him being... unsteady." Merlin remarked, his voice low and a little strained as he struggled to think of a way to put it that wouldn't sound insulting. Both to himself and to Balinor.

"Believe me, when he wasn't concentrating." Hunith chuckled, "You are positively graceful compared."

Merlin appeared to be thinking, his eyes narrowed as though staring at something in the far distance. After a moment he shook his head. "I really can't picture it."

"Hmm." She applied a little more salve to a particularly nasty mark that had begun to come up like a cat scratch, pausing as Merlin winced. "You know Old Man Simmons' chestnut fence?"

"The one with the big hole in it?" Merlin nodded. "What about it?"

Hunith bit back a smile, endeavouring to swallow it, before speaking. "Picking up a stray log after gathering firewood." She murmured, a silly smile on her face. "Tripped over his own feet."

A wide grin of expectation cracked Merlin's face. "And into the fence?"

"Pitched sideways right through it, onto the vegetable patch." She reached for more salve, her smile remaining. "That's why he grew the beard. To hide the scar on his cheek from a splinter of wood."

"Explains why Old man Simmons didn't like me very much. Even before the... incident."

Hunith laughed lightly at that, and regarded her grinning son fondly. With a light sigh, she met his eyes, and laid a hand on his cheek. "You look so much like him, Merlin. The two of you have more in common than you could ever know."

Merlin didn't say anything to that. He merely closed his eyes and relaxed into his mother's touch.

After a moment, Hunith applied the last of the salve to a graze on Merlin's cheek with her free hand, and smeared a blob onto the end of his nose with a smile. "There now. All done."

Merlin blinked, and leant back in his chair, stifling a yawn. Idly, he reached up to his neck and brushed his fingers over his 'wounds'. "Thank you, Mother."

"Nothing you couldn't have done yourself." Hunith stood and began collecting up her cloths, and carried to the bowl to the door to empty it. "Gaius tells me your talents have improved."

"Yeah. Quite a lot." Merlin stood and headed over to the fire and one of the buckets stood beside it to wash his hands. "I can do more now than I ever imagined before I left home."

"It's strange." Hunith tipped out the water and came back into the house. She closed the door behind her, hand pausing on the latch as she sent a cautious glance towards the sheet, where she knew that Arthur could hear them. "My little Merlin, being able to do all that. Being able to heal people."

"... Not very well." He murmured, quietly enough that neither his mother nor Arthur could hear him, and a little louder "I'm not really little any more."

"No." Hunith placed the bowl down beside the buckets ready for washing, and nudged her son playfully with her hip. "You're a great, tall beanpole."

"Oi." He chastised her with a laugh. "I'm great, but I'm not that tall."

"Well you're taller than me."

"That's not hard." He hopped away before she could flick water at him from the buckets, and settled in at the table to begin slicing the honey cake. "I'll finish off the bread in a minute, then fetch some more water for the morning."

"What are you doing now?" Hunith queried, observing the thick and thin slices of cake he cut and laid out on separate dishes. "Is one of those for you?"

"Yeah. Guess which one."

"Have another. There's nothing of you."

"Not really that hungry. You know me."

Arthur saw Hunith's smile, and shake of her head. "You always were cheap to feed."

"Do you want some?"

She shook her head. "No, no. The bread won't take long. That's for you boys. There's the last of the old loaf left as well, if you'd like to finish it off."

"To be fair, _this_ is for me." He indicated the thin slice. "_That's_ for the royal ass." He waved a hand over the rest of the cake.

Arthur couldn't contain it. "Merlin!"

"He can see us." Merlin warned his mother in a mock whisper, loud enough that Arthur could hear. "Watch your manners" and raised his voice to call across the room, "Sorry, _Sire_. Just being considerate!"

Hunith mentally shook her head, and brushed Merlin's arm as she passed. She knew that she ought to reprimand him, but just then, seeing that impish grin on his face, she couldn't bring herself to. "I'll look out some clothes for him, and wash his."

"I'll do that." Merlin volunteered hurriedly, but was stopped by a stern look from his mother.

"You'll sit down for a few minutes." She told him firmly. "No wonder there's nothing of you."

Abashed, Merlin went back to preparing Arthur's meal, casting chastised looks at his mother.

Hunith left him to it, and headed outside, only to poke her head back through the door as she left, "Make sure you have something to drink, too" before leaving them alone.

The small house descended into silence, only the sounds of Merlin preparing the meal to be heard.

Arthur sat in his chair, one leg drawn up to rest across his knee. He couldn't help but feel a little out of place. It wasn't that he didn't feel welcome in Hunith's house. Really, how could he not? He felt welcome, relaxed. Just not content. Listening to Merlin and his mother he felt a little like an intruder. What it was to have such an easy relationship with a parent escaped him. Yet it seemed to be something that everyone around him seemed to have.

Merlin didn't need to strive every waking moment to make his mother proud. She was proud of him for just being him. The fallible, clumsy idiot. That was enough for her.

The way Guinevere spoke about Tom, she had never had to try desperately to win his approval, He loved her and cherished her simply because she was his daughter. The same was true of Percival, and Leon. Gwaine... Gwaine likely didn't have parents. He never spoke about his family. He more than likely just fell out of a tree one day and started wandering around wooing anything with two legs and a skirt. Even Elyan, though he had had a difficult relationship with Tom, it had it's good times. Lancelot had no one, and didn't often speak of his family. When he did, it was with fondness.

Uther had never been that affectionate towards him. Not openly, at least. Every day was a constant battle for approval. To make the king proud, and prove himself worthy as the Pendragon heir. At the time it hadn't seemed unusual. Now, with the benefit of hindsight and the views of those closest to him – many of whom, as a prince, he would never normally have associated with – and being able to see how Merlin and Hunith were with one another, the way it had been for him felt... wrong. That was difficult to take in.

He swallowed, and glanced down into his lap. His father loved him, he knew. It just seemed wrong that he had felt that he had to work for it.

Merlin's footsteps on the dirt floor drew him from his thoughts and back into a haughty air in time for his manservant's entrance through the sheet.

"You're looking very regal tonight, Sire." Merlin grinned, holding a wooden bowl in one hand and a flagon in the other.

"Get lost, merlin." Arthur reached for the bowl, snatching it so hard that he nearly lost a green thing over the side. Starving, he looked over his meal in anticipation. A frown developed on his face at the interesting pickings awaiting him in the dish. "Merlin, what is this?"

"Dinner." His servant answered innocently.

"I see." The honey cake looked good. It smelled good, too The other offerings, however... "What is this?" He jabbed a finger at the thin slice of partially stale bread beside the cake.

"Bread."

"Old bread. It's got grit in it."

"They're seeds."

"What are they doing in my bread ?"

"Eat them. They're good for you."

"And these things?"

Merlin made a show of examining the green things Arthur was frowning at so hard that they may combust and disappear in a puff of smoke at any moment. "From here they look like broad beans."

"There's nothing broad about them. They're tiny."

"Must be the runts of the litter."

"Where's the meat?"

"Meat?" Merlin was blinking at him. It was irritating.

"Yes!" Arthur exclaimed, nodding readily. "Last time we were here I remember there being meat. So where is it this time?"

"Outside. Running around the pig pen."

"What?"

"And before you ask, no, I'm not going to go out and slaughter a pig for your enjoyment."

To his credit Arthur let that one slide. Even he wasn't about to demand that. Though he had seen some chickens running about on their way in...

No. This would have to do. Hunith didn't have much, he knew. Just... he had thought that she had a little more.

"Will that be all, Sire?"

What? Arthur glanced up at Merlin and nodded. "Yes. This will do fine."

Without even a bow, or an inclination of the head, Merlin turned on his heel and left the king to his meal.

Once he was gone and banging pots about beyond the sheet, Arthur picked up a bean between his fingertips and scrutinised it in distaste. He never had been a fan of beans. They were deceptive. The vegetable equivalent of Morgana. Most were vile, and thoroughly unappealing to look at. This specific strain looked particularly suspect. He dropped it back in the bowl and threw a curious glance at the gap in the sheet.

Call it suspicion, but he did wonder what Merlin had for his dinner. It was not beyond his sneaky manservant to abduct the nicer components of Arthur's meals, and while Arthur did trust Merlin with many things – his life included – his meals were not one of them. Merlin had form on food theft. Though from where he sat Arthur could not see the contents of the unguarded bowl on the table, that Merlin did not at present appear to be eating.

He wasn't about to stand up. That seemed like a lot of work.

Huffing loudly, he turned his attention back to his own dinner and began to pick at the bread. While it was hardly a meal fit for a king, he ought not complain. It was the best Hunith had to offer. It had been drummed into him by Guinevere some long time ago, in this very village in fact that he should be grateful for what he had, as there were many who had so much less. Merlin's mother was one of them. So long as there was enough left for her.

Merlin would not allow her to go without. Arthur knew that for a fact. Just like he knew that half of Merlin's meagre wage made its way to Ealdor, and Hunith whenever he remembered to pay his servant. The rest went to the tavern keepers of Camelot, so at least half of it went on something sensible. The half that Hunith received. Not the half that Evoric enjoyed.

Arthur tapped his foot and glanced at the gap again. He could just see Merlin's back where his servant knelt by the fire, stoking up the embers. Why didn't the idiot have his dinner and then do that? Surely he must be hungry? No man could be that thin and _not_ be hungry.

Merlin turned his head suddenly, and looked up out of the window. It was gloaming outside, and the air beginning to get a little chill as autumn approached. The longest day had passed some time ago, and the year was marching on. Winter would soon be upon them, and Arthur hoped that the harvests around Camelot were really as good as the reports he received in dreary council meetings.

He considered Merlin a moment, something about the expression on his friend's face holding his eye. Merlin looked happy. Really, truly happy. Something about that made Arthur uncomfortable.

How often had he seen Merlin happy of late? Granted, there was always a stupid smile on his face, but in contrast to the one Merlin currently wore, the difference between what was real and what was not suddenly seemed very clear.

A niggling feeling of discomfort settled itself in the pit of Arthur's stomach alongside the nibbles of stale bread and grit. How long had this been going on, he wondered? Why had he not realised it? There was a lot on his own mind at present. Though Camelot was currently at peace; thriving and without a peep from Morgana for some long time, he still had many duties and responsibilities as king. Far more than he had as a prince. Merlin had likened his roles as King as almost having to work once, and it was something that he was still adjusting to.

Even so, how had he not noticed the change in his friend? Because that's what Merlin was. Though he could never say it out loud and let it lie, (especially to Merlin of all people) Merlin was the closest, and certainly most enduring friend he had ever had. Certainly the most real.

With a small measure of embarrassment he cast his mind back to the guffawing morons he had kept around himself when Merlin had first blundered into his path all those years ago. Bootlickers, who strove to please him and be seen with him, as part of his inner circle because of his title, rather than because of who he was. Where half of them even were now, he didn't know. He didn't particularly care, in fact. A few had managed to pass the test and become knights, but not many. That was hardly a surprise. They weren't the type of people he would choose as knights of Camelot now.

Really, what kind of idiot had he been: how arrogant, and jumped up, to throw knives at a poor servant carting a shield, purely for amusement? He used to be an absolute git!

That reminded him. He did need to practice his mace. His mace arm was a tad rusty. A few hours bashing a shield would work out any problems. Merlin wouldn't mind. It would do him good. Toughen him up.

He didn't deny the small smile that curved his lips at the thought. Perhaps he was catching Merlin's humour? He had long suspected that his manservant was contagious. If anybody could be infectious, then it would be his friend.

The smile dropped away. Merlin was his friend. His best friend, in fact. What did that say about the quality of available friends for royalty in Camelot? In all seriousness, Arthur felt low for not realising that there was something not quite right with Merlin. Whatever it was, it had been going on for quite some time, now that he thought about it. As Merlin's friend, it was his duty to find out what it was, and help if he could.

Not that he could just walk up and ask of course. No, no. The very thought made Arthur scoff internally. He didn't do feelings. As a woman, that was Merlin's thing. Phrases like 'how are you feeling', and 'do you want to talk about it' could not be built from his personal lexicon, nor from that of any self-respecting man. If he wanted to find out what was wrong, he would have to trick merlin into it. That shouldn't be too hard. There were things floating in the moat with a higher mental capacity than Merlin, so it wasn't going to be much of a challenge. As his friend, Arthur thought that perhaps it was his duty just to make the effort. Just, once he did know, no arm punches or back slaps to cheer him up. Merlin would only complain and whine about how slapping people didn't cheer them up. Idiot. It wasn't Arthur's fault that he didn't know how to relate to girls of Merlin's type. Perhaps book him in for a hair-braiding session with Guinevere and Sefa?

… Merlin had been giving Guinevere's maid 'the eyes' of late. Maybe he would _like_ a hair-braiding session with her? Would that qualify as doing something nice for him? There was a fine line to be walked here, and it wouldn't do to be seen to be doing something soft and fluffy for a servant. Even one as awful as Merlin, whose standards of service barely qualified him as a servant at all, but more of an animated broom that didn't work very well.

No, he had to be careful. It wouldn't do to be showing preference to any one servant. George may well explode in a fireball of dissatisfaction if that were to happen. While that would be rather entertaining, and more so impressive to witness, it may impede George's abilities to serve, and that would be a fate worse than death for the man. Arthur liked to think himself a fair king, and causing combustive fits of jealousy among the servile population of Camelot was something that ought to be avoided.

Ah. He had gone off on a mental meander. Better not let that happen too often.

Dragging himself back to the present, and ignoring Merlin where he was now clanging about under the workbench in what constituted the kitchen, and Hunith's bedroom, Arthur focused himself back on his meagre meal.

He picked up a 'broad' bean and took a tentative bite. His face screwed up as the offensive thing did not let the side down in the terrible taste stakes. Merlin must be out to torture him. He had given him a good handful of the nasty things. This was revenge, wasn't it? For refusing to go through the woods right off. Still, with a concerted effort, Arthur finished off the dreadful beans and consoled himself with the seedy bread. Even though it was a little stale around the edges, it was rather good. Hunith's honey cake was simply magnificent, so the meal wasn't a dead loss entirely. The whole lot went down a treat with the flagon of ale. While he would have really preferred water, it was unlikely safe out here. Camelot's water was remarkably pure when it didn't have Avancs in it. Thinking of it was making him thirsty.

No longer as hungry as he had been, Arthur settled down in his chair and laced his fingers over his stomach. As soon as the sun rose, he and Merlin had to get out and search for those horses. Then maybe they could get back to Camelot.

The patrol knowing that they were in Essetir more or less ruined the objective of quietly finding out why word had reached Camelot of Lot's forces massing within fifteen leagues of the border.

While anybody could have been sent to find out, truth be told, he desperately needed a few days away. Summer seemed to have an awful lot of competitions and events held by the various guilds that he was expected to judge and attend. Really, churning butter with the guild of dairy maids, or cattle herders, or whatever they were had just been embarrassing. Merlin had hardly explained technique and process clearly enough before he had had to try in front of a crowd. His efforts had just served to make him look silly, which Merlin had of course loved. He was sure that his father had never had to do anything like that. Nor any of the other kings. Lot surely didn't sit there presiding over mane plaiting contests. He was probably to busy sharpening pikes to put the heads of his enemies on. Alined surely never had to participate in annual hay rolls (which were NOT as fun as they sounded). How could he find the time when there was so much scheming and underhandedness to get through?

Annis and Mithian probably enjoyed their fair share of garland competitions, but they were a queen and a princess! While he didn't much fancy whiling away his days whittling head spikes, or plotting, surely he had better things to do than all the useless tiffin that seemed to fill his daily schedule? Why was he more akin to the neighbouring queen, and one of the fairest princesses throughout the five kingdoms than he was the other kings? It didn't seem fair. Gwaine would tear his self esteem to shreds if he knew what was currently going through his head!

At any rate, he had run off on this important excursion to get away from the rubbish summer at Camelot. A few days away from being King Arthur was all he really needed. So he had left the knights behind and just dragged Merlin along, because there was no one else he could better be simple Arthur around than Merlin. He couldn't take Guinevere. She was even less interested in 'man things' than Merlin was, so wouldn't have enjoyed riding around the woods shooting things with arrows and fighting the odd bandit as much as he did.

It was while he pondered what type of activities they could do together in the woods, that he realised the din out in the kitchen had stopped.

Thoughtful, he cast one more glance towards the gap in the sheet. Merlin had stopped mucking about out there, and now sat on one of the chairs beside the table, facing the fire. Still not eating. He was staring at something he turned over and over in his hands. The way his shoulders were slumped, he was unhappy. He was fiddling with a carved length of wood, about the size of a spoon.

Even from so far away Arthur could see the quality of the carving. He thought that maybe he could understand where it came from, and also why Merlin appeared so upset.

Merlin and Hunith's conversation of before came to mind. Not long ago Arthur had stormed into Merlin's room in search of his absent manservant with a view to berating him for being late, and maybe pushing him a little, only to find Merlin seated on the edge of his bed, fiddling absently with a carved figure of a dragon.

Immediately Arthur had realised that something was not right. Much to his own surprise, he had even questioned Merlin on what was wrong, and actually received an answer. It was the anniversary of his father's death, and the dragon was all that Merlin had of him.

Arthur hadn't berated him that day. He had not asked anything of him. He had sat beside Merlin, with a hand on his shoulder until he had to leave and carry out his kingly duties. Arthur understood Merlin's sadness, and he had wanted his friend to know that.

Watching Merlin sitting there now, Arthur felt the same kinship. He understood, but would leave Merlin alone this time. Perhaps Merlin needed time to reconcile his grief and other feelings. It was what he had needed himself, after his own father's death.

So Arthur sighed lightly and let his head fall against the low chair back, not particularly comfortable, but at ease. Tomorrow they would slip by the bandits and find those blasted horses. They would slip off home. Getting back and letting everyone know that they were well suddenly seemed even more important than it had previously. Gwen and Gaius would be worrying about them...

* * *

...


	3. The problem

THREE

* * *

For somebody used to sleeping in the softest of beds, it ought to be difficult to sleep sprawled out on the hard ground in a nest of blankets, but that hadn't been a problem. Being so tired, Arthur had crashed out into a deep sleep. No amount of hard floor or small stones or silverfish were going to stop his descent into dreamland.

At the start of the night he had lain flat out on his back, one hand behind his head, the other resting on his belly as he outlined the plan for the following day to Merlin who lay beside him, though there was a good foot and a half between them despite sharing a blanket. Arthur got too hot when he slept apparently, and Merlin preferred his space. That was understandable, never having shared his bed, nor ever being likely to.

That jibe had earned Arthur a sharp kick in the shin and the loss of his blanket as Merlin rolled himself up in them and told him to 'shut up and go to sleep'.

Serious consideration had been put towards refining his plan further just to irritate Merlin a bit more, but Arthur had refrained, aware that Hunith was sleeping soundly a little way away.

It was now nearly morning. Dawn had begun to break, lighting up Ealdor in the white rays of a new sun beneath a pale pink and blue sky. Arthur snored loudly on his side, arm slung over Merlin's shoulder. Merlin snored also, but like everything he did, much more quietly than Arthur, laid out on his side, utterly dead to the world. Neither of them had stirred when Hunith stepped over them carefully and quietly on her way out to feed the pigs. She had paused at the door a moment and regarded the two of them cuddled up together with a fond smile. Despite all the bluster and bravado from Arthur, and the snarking and quips from Merlin, she was glad that Merlin had such a friend as Arthur, and vice versa. They truly were two sides of the same coin.

The click of the door latch as she left caused Merlin to stir. He shifted his head against the 'pillow' and blinked. It took a moment to register where he was, and the arm hanging limply over his shoulder. With a frown, he turned his head, rolling his shoulder that he could see behind and came almost face to face with Arthur's snoring, drooling, open-mouthed face.

"Oh, that is disgusting!"

His outburst shocked Arthur awake. The king blinked blearily as Merlin rolled over and shoved him away.

"Wha-?"

"Get off!"

Confused, Arthur found himself rolling over, hit in the face by Merlin's pillow – or more accurately, his balled up jacket – as his servant wriggled free and crawled away to stand. "Merlin!"

"I told you!" Merlin shot back, a safe distance from anything that may be thrown by the king with any accuracy so early in the day, "I like my space!"

Head still a little fuzzy, Arthur propped himself up on one elbow and ran a hand through his messy hair. "I wouldn't hug you by choice!" He returned with incredulity, "I was asleep!"

"If this has to happen again, I'm sleeping the other way around."

Arthur frowned, and rubbed at his eye with the heel of his hand. "What about the pillow?"

"What pillow?" Merlin scoffed. "The one you hogged all night? I think I'll manage without it, thanks."

"Fine... What makes you think there's going to be an 'again'?"

"I don't know!" Merlin gave an exaggerated shrug. "It's a long way back to Camelot. If we find the horses, there's no guarantee that we'll find our supplies and bedrolls with them."

"Fine." Arthur repeated. "But don't expect the blanket."

Merlin, leaning on the back of the chair that Arthur had occupied for most of the previous evening, opened his mouth to retort, cut off when the door flew open and Hunith darted into the house.

She closed it quickly behind her, and glanced over her shoulder at where Arthur lay. "Merlin-" She turned, surprised to find him up and on the other side of the house. "Lot's men are coming!"

Both he and Arthur shocked into action; Merlin snatching up the tunic Hunith had found for Arthur, and Excalibur, tossing them to the king as he scrambled to his feet, and grabbed his own sword.

Hunith took his arm and directed him away from the front door. "Out the back. Towards the piglet pen."

He nodded his understanding and made for the back door, Arthur following him.

The both of them streaked through the silent village, taking short cuts through gardens and over fences. At the hill from the woods the thunder of hooves could be heard, the jingling of maille and tack. King and servant swung left suddenly, clambering through the railings of the small pen used for raising piglets to where an older man was waiting, waving them to him.

Arthur recognised him from the time spent in the village during Kanen's raids, though he did not know his name. Merlin, however, knew him as Peter and was glad to see him.

"Your highness!" Peter called out to Arthur, "Merlin! Here!" He was directing them to the hidden space below ground in which they had used to hide their grain.

Both king and servant dropped down into it without a word and lay still while Peter replaced the boards to obscure the hole and kick hay over the top of them.

Arthur and Merlin lay there in silence, looking up at the underside of the false floor between the rough ash beams, panting to regain lost breath. They could hear very little of what was going on above ground, but could feel the vibration of approaching horses through the earth at their backs. Earth that felt particularly cold and itchy to Arthur's still shirtless back. He held his tunic balled up at his chest, sword laid along his body in a manner that he found couldn't help but feel as though he were already entombed.

Peter would have moved away from the piglet pen, he imagined, as not to draw attention to it. Arthur scanned the underside of the boards for any sign of displaced dust, any shake of footsteps or activity. The vibrations beneath had ceased. Now the shout of muffled voices reached his ears.

Beside him, Merlin swallowed, and shifted nervously, his shoulder bumping against Arthur's unintentionally. "They know we're here." He whispered quietly, worried. "In the village."

"Suspect." Arthur corrected him. "They don't know."

Merlin didn't say anything to that, though Arthur knew what was on his mind. If it should be discovered that anyone in the village had helped them, knowing who Arthur was... If it was discovered that the villagers were harbouring them...

Arthur shifted his hand and gripped Merlin's forearm reassuringly, before returning it to his sword's hilt.

The hole was absolutely freezing. It was all Arthur could do to stop his teeth from chattering. There was no way he could put his tunic on. There was barely space to move, let alone get dressed without making noise and attracting Lot's men.

"... Never should have come here." Merlin murmured beside him, shaking his head.

"Merlin." Arthur drew his servant round to look at him, and lifted a finger to his lips. Merlin did as he was told and fell silent, though he did not appear at all easy.

Arthur couldn't blame him. If anything should happen to Ealdor, to the people, to Hunith, then Merlin would be utterly devastated. He himself would... do something. He didn't know what, but the thought of anything happening to the village frightened him more than he could admit.

Through the boards, Arthur strained his ears, just able to hear the enemy riders questioning the villagers. Those that he could hear were being evasive in their answers. All until -

He squeezed his eyes shut, Merlin holding his breath beside him. Both of them could hear Hunith's voice. She was quite close by the sound of it as she acknowledged that two men had passed through the village. She told them that the villagers had done what they always did and provided the travellers with food and water and sent them on their way. Who they were and where they were going was of no consequence in a hospitable village such as Ealdor, and should they wish it, the men of the patrol were more than welcome to replenish their own supplies also before moving on.

They heard nothing further, though they strained their ears. All seemed to be silent. Arthur tried to hear, needed to know what was happening. Any moment now he feared the screams of the villagers, that some little thing could give away Hunith's story as false. He had visions of the boards above being ripped up and himself and Merlin pulled out to be captured or executed. He would fight back, but even he, without his knights, could not hope to defeat an entire Essetir patrol.

His arms felt as though they were going to drop off. He was so cold! Concerned, he looked to Merlin at his side, noting how his manservant shivered so. If he himself was cold, even if he was half-naked, then Merlin must be positively freezing. Maybe the idiot did have a shirt on, but there was a total of zero meat on his angular bones. Inevitably he would be frozen.

Awkwardly, Arthur tossed his unworn tunic at Merlin, who nodded gratefully as it landed on his head, and draped it over his chest as a blanket. It was so large on him that it couldn't really serve as anything else. It may afford Merlin some extra warmth in this hole, but it would do them no favours if they were discovered. The longer it took for the silence to break, the more apprehensive Arthur became.

A chicken began squawking nearby, loud flapping of feathers preluding the first crash of a door and the worried cry of a woman no doubt pulled from her home.

Arthur winced. They were searching the village. He knew that Lot was a suspicious, ruthless king. Arthur feared what lengths may be gone to in order to find evidence of his presence.

His heart skipped a beat. His throat felt dry. Evidence such as the bedding spread out on the ground of a house lived in by a single woman, and a set of muddy, but very fine maille and pauldron draped over the back of a chair at the kitchen table.

He threw a glance at Merlin. His friend had gone very still. Merlin lay on his back clutching the tunic to his chest, his eyes shut. His adam's apple bobbed in his throat, but he did not speak, nor move. He appeared to be listening.

Arthur realised why, goosebumps rising on his skin at the sudden halt in the gentle snuffles of piglets above. The little animals squealed suddenly, a patter of light trotters the sound of them all rushing to one side of the pen away from the fence.

There was a shout, almost above them – one of the patrolmen – Arthur's shoulders tensed. The man hadn't said anything of substance, that may denote suspicion, but he appeared to be calling some of his fellows over. From the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Merlin swallow, and turn his head away. He missed the tiny flash of gold against the shadowy earth, beneath his manservant's cheek.

"Oi!" The patrolman shouted, the volume shocking Arthur with exactly how close he was to the pen. "Over there!"

The king drew a breath. Merlin held his.

Another voice, authoritative and familiar as that of the commander who had ordered the partol after them in the first rang out:

"With me!"

Running feet could be heard, the call of horses and jingle of tack as men mounted up. Arthur wished that he could see what was happening. From the thunder of hooves, the resumed vibration of the ground beneath his back, the patrol were passing. They were leaving the village.

He released the breath he did not realise he held with a vibration of his lips, and turned his head to his servant.

Merlin was blinking back at him, that curious expression of innocence plastered all over his face that he sometimes took on for no apparent reason. "That was lucky."

"Mm." Arthur didn't know what else to say. It _was_ lucky. Something had drawn the patrol off, though down here he couldn't see or say for sure what it had been. Whatever it was, he was grateful for it.

He took a breath, about to ask for his shirt back when the hay covering the boards was pushed aside and the boards themselves lifted.

Both king and servant blinked at the sudden glare of bright sunlight on their faces. Arthur feared there may have even been a squeak in there somewhere, but chose to pretend that it had never happened.

His vision cleared to reveal the familiar faces of several of Ealdor's villagers staring back at him with fearful, yet curious expressions on their faces.

Despite being a king, he didn't really like being a spectacle. He couldn't be aware of exactly how much of one he was at that moment. The revered and mighty king of Camelot, sprawled out half-naked at the bottom of a hole in the ground beside the equally well known and tatty form of his personal manservant. He didn't really have time to think on it as two sets of hands grasped his forearms and hauled him from the ground.

The craggy, weathered face of Peter looked back at him, concerned. "Sire. Are you well?"

Arthur nodded and looked round to see Merlin being lifted from the hole in a similar manner to his own less than elegant exit. "I'm fine." He answered in as close to his composed and kingly tone as he could manage. "Thank you."

Peter looked pleased. "It is our pleasure, Sire. We owe you our lives after your assistance against Kanen."

"Really. You don't owe me anything." Arthur insisted, holding his hand up. "It is I who owe all of you. It is more than I can ask of you to put yourselves in danger for my sake. As long as I remain in your village, that is what you are doing."

"Really, Sire." Peter returned levelly. "It is no trouble to us. Our village falls within Lot's lands, but our loyalty lies with you."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the gathered villagers. It was touching to hear, but Arthur shook his head. "That is very dangerous talk." He told them, though there was no reprimand, nor anything stern in his voice. "Especially in these parts. I am grateful to you, to all of you for your silence, but I cannot stay any longer and put your village in danger." He threw a glance at Merlin. "As soon as we find our horses, Merlin and I will gather our belonging and leave."

Kind as he was being, there was a definite finality to Arthur's tone that none would argue with. Not even Merlin this morning, it seemed. Though that could have less to do with agreement and more to do with being torn from his bed and shoved in a hole in the ground, but Arthur chose to see it as a private blessing and not question it.

Staying in Ealdor was not an option. Not when it brought danger down on the village and its people. He and Merlin had to go as soon as they feasibly could.

Seeing that no further excitement was forthcoming, the villagers began to disperse back to their homes and daily routines. Hunith grasped Merlin's arm and took it to walk with him back to their home. She chucked him on the cheek fondly, and offered him a proud, affectionate smile as they went.

Exactly what that was in aid of, Arthur couldn't guess. He moved to follow, but paused, stayed by something he had glimpsed from the corner of his eye. Frowning, he glanced over his shoulder towards the path out of the village into the trees to the North. The one taken by the patrol as it was now indented with multiple hoof prints.

A thin wisp of smoke rose from the woods some way from the village. It appeared as though risen from a camp fire.

Arthur stared at it, uncertain. That had not been there before, he was sure. Then again, running half-nude through the village at the crack of dawn to be sequestered in a freezing hole beneath a pig pen wasn't conducive to real awareness of his surroundings.

Still... He watched the smoke rising over the trees, eyes narrowed a little in thought. He was sure that it had not been there.

He could swear that it hadn't.

… Couldn't he?

* * *

The patrol had moved on after spending a short time searching the woods for the source of the smoke. According to Luke, one of the village's younger farmers (a young man who was quite handy with a quarter staff, Arthur recalled) they had headed North along the border. That came as both a relief and a worry to Arthur. They would no doubt be doubling back around, trying to intercept him as he made a run for it back to Camelot's lands. However, the patrol didn't know that he knew what they didn't know. Namely that he was still in the village, and that he knew what they were trying to do. It was good to be a step ahead.

So he and Merlin made their way through the woods to the South of Ealdor, back the way that they had come towards the ridge, and freedom. The patrol must have spent much of the previous evening, and probably the night searching the woods. The undergrowth had been crushed flat, and hooves had turned the mud either side of the river to soup where they had crossed.

Arthur led the way this time, sword in hand as he crept across the smashed ferns and nightshades. He moved as fleetly and silently as a wolf stalking its prey, the great hunter that he was. Merlin meandered along behind him, stepping softly, but still cracking twigs and rustling leaves beneath his badly coordinated feet. He was trying, but even his best attempts at moving silently rendered all of Arthur's efforts redundant. It was a wonder they caught anything when they went out hunting.

As he moved, Arthur put all of his valuable hunting skills to good use, scanning the area for any sign of enemies, or the horses. It was no easy task. Such a mess had been made of the woodland floor by the patrol overnight that making out any individual or specific horse became an utterly impossible task.

They had crossed the small bridge near the river and began making their way up towards the bracken path ('Great. More adders.') when Arthur caught a faint crack nearby. Automatically he grabbed Merlin and flung him against a tree to the right.

Surprised, Merlin threw a glance at his king, but kept his voice low at the sight of Arthur peering out from around another tree a few feet away. "What is it?"

Arthur raised a finger to his lips, and flattened himself back against the rough, mossy bark of his own tree.

It was a few seconds more before Merlin sensed what Arthur had, a few more before they both heard what they had sensed. Voices, and approaching footsteps.

"They have to be found." A rough voice, similar to that of the bandit who had harped on about the cave echoed through the trees to their ears. " We don't have a choice."

"Of course." A second voice, also familiar reached them, before giving what sounded like a suppressed yawn. "Do you have any idea how much he'll fetch? The king of Camelot? We catch the slavers, they'll give their right arms for such a prize."

"Forget the slavers. You seen the bounty Lot's put on his head?" The first asked with a chuckle. "Wants it for a bauble to decorate his castle wall."

"Hefty sum, is it?"

"... A king's ransom."

The pair of them guffawed with laughter before the sound of their footsteps halted a few feet from the trees where Arthur and Merlin stood in apprehensive silence.

"What about the other one?" A loud hack and an exaggerated spit onto the forest floor could be heard. Merlin made a disgusted face. Arthur did not react. The bandit went on. "That skinny one won't fetch much from the slavers. I doubt Lot'll want him."

"Oh no? Didn't get a clear look at him, but I'd wager that he's the king's personal manservant. Arthur doesn't go anywhere without him. They're very close, I hear. Skinny he may be, but the boy is a real little workhorse. Has to be. The royal brat is very demanding."

"That streak of nothing is Merlin?"

Arthur cocked a glance at his manservant, half expecting a smug expression, or at least a raised eyebrow screaming silent 'told you so's' back at him, but Merlin's face held nothing of the sort. In fact he was staring at the ground, a deep frown on his face. If anything, Arthur would have to say that he looked more upset that they had mentioned him by name than smug that somebody thought him anything but lazy.

"I'd bet my life on it." The second bandit replied somewhat gleefully. With a swish of bracken, the two bandits moved off on a heading around to the left of the trees where Arthur and Merlin hid.

Hearing their steps, Arthur threw a look at Merlin, despairing to see the idiot had not moved and remained staring at the forest floor. He waved a hand, trying to get the sullen fool's attention, failing spectacularly. Merlin was too deep in thought to notice. Of all the times to start thinking!

Arthur changed tact and paused a moment to ensure that the bandits had started talking again to quietly call his manservant's name. "... _Merlin_."

No response.

Arthur made a face, and tried again. "_Psst! Merlin!_"

Still nothing. Not loud enough. Merlin was too distracted. Arthur cast about, locating a stray acorn on the ground near his feet. Quietly as he could manage, he scooped it up and threw it at Merlin. That got the idiot's attention, when it hit him in the cheek.

Shocked, Merlin looked up to see Arthur giving him the '_what is **wrong** with you_?' face that was always more reminiscent of a constipated dog. At a loss to explain, Merlin gave an exaggerated shrug. Arthur rolled his eyes and began making hand signals.

Again Merlin shrugged, and mouthed the word '_What?_'

With a quiet huff, but actively exaggerated body language, Arthur signalled again, more slowly and finished with a questioning look that should be clear enough in itself. '_Alright?_'

Merlin responded with a confused face, and shook his head.

Arthur's lip curled in frustration and anger. He abandoned all pretence of cool command, jabbed a pointing finger to the undergrowth among the trees away to Merlin's right and mouthed very clearly, very purposefully '**_GO THAT WAY_**.'

with a glance to his right, Merlin looked back at Arthur, and nodded his head in such a deliberate, clear and sarcastic manner that Arthur had half a mind to kill him himself before the bandits had the pleasure, and mouthed back '_**O**-**KAY**._'

Watching the irritating servant start away relatively quietly, Arthur cautiously peered around his own tree to the left. The two bandits were heading to their right, swinging around into the trees along from where he stood hidden. He hurried after Merlin and ducked down into the tall bracken before they could see him, tugging Merlin down after him by the hem of his scruffy old jacket .

Merlin landed with a thump on his backside, and turned quickly to snarl at Arthur, "Don't do that."

"Shhh." The king pointed through the bracken stalks towards the two pairs of dirty, scuffed boots that were heading purposefully towards them.

The bandits halted a short way from the bracken, and glanced about, just visible in shattered slashes of colour through the twirling fronds obscuring their prey. They were definitely searching... just not very effectively.

"Lot's men are going to try and get to them first." The first said in a deadpan, breaking the silence.

"Undoubtedly." The other agreed. "Lot don't want to pay out the bounty. He's a tight-fisted old sod."

"Shouldn't have put it out there, then. Everyone'll be looking for his highness for that amount of coin. The border will be sewn up tighter than a virgin's undies before nightfall. There's nowhere for him to run, and nowhere he can hide. The whole of Essetir will be out for his head. There's not a village this side of the ridge he can trust to take him in."

In the bracken, Arthur and Merlin glanced at once another.

Neither of them missed the bigger problem, though. By nightfall they would be more or less stuck. If there was a bounty on Arthur's head, then every thug, slaver, mercenary and general nutter out there would be on their way to stop him getting back into safe territory.

"If we find them, I want dibs on the beanpole." The spitting bandit chuckled quietly. "There's a pretty penny on him, too. Less mucky stuff there, seeing as Lot wants him alive. Don't blame him, really. Being so close to the king all the time, he's worth his weight in gold with the information he could be persuaded to let slip."

"... And Lot does like to be persuasive."

Beside him, Arthur saw Merlin tense.

"Come on."

The bandits started to move away.

"Better find them before the law does."

They crashed away through the woods, back towards the river and the bridge.

Once sure that they were gone and out of earshot, Arthur and Merlin stood up and brushed themselves down. More accurately, Arthur brushed himself down. Merlin gaped after the vanished bandits. He remained that way while Arthur began searching around in the bracken for his sword. Without warning, he let out an indignant huff and threw his hands in the air. "Great. Just perfect. Why do these things always happen to us?"

Arthur straightened and threw a cautious glance about the woods. "Calm down, Merlin."

"Calm down?" Merlin chuckled mirthlessly, staring at the king in disbelief. "You heard them. We're hunted men. There's going to be an army of bloodthirsty madmen standing between us and Camelot, after our heads for a bit of gold. That's if we don't go now, and have to make it all the way back to Camelot without horses or supplies. So either we get our heads chopped off and die, or we try and make it home and – guess what – die of starvation, thirst, exposure or, I don't know, exhaustion? Take your pick! There's plenty to choose from!"

"Will you _shut up_." Arthur hissed, scanning the woods warily. "There are bandits out there looking for us."

"How could I forget? To claim the bounty on our heads. A bounty, Arthur!"

"That's pretty standard for a king."

Merlin slapped his own forehead and made as if to turn away, only to whirl back round and resume his complaining. "But not for me! I'm a serving boy. It's a little disturbing to have people want to kill me for money. No, sorry." He corrected himself. "They want to kill _you_ for money. Me, they want to drag back to Lot's castle and torture for information on where you keep your dirty socks. That's not the most noble secret to die defending, so excuse me for being a bit upset."

"_Mer_lin." Arthur huffed, arms folded over his chest. "Stop whingeing for a minute and let me think."

"Oh, that's a new one. Careful you don't strain yourself."

"Shut up. We need to get over the border as soon as possible. There will be somewhere we can take shelter on the other side - one of the outlying villages, while we send word to Camelot. If you would stop being so melodramatic, we could get moving now _before_ the army of bloodthirsty madmen turns up."

To Arthur's great surprise, Merlin did shut up. Though the idiot didn't look pleased about it.

The king returned to trying to locate his sword. It took a moment, but he pulled it up out of the bracken and stuck it through his belt in a purposeful way that he hoped reinforced the fact that the argument was finished, and threw another cautious glance around the woods. Scanning them revealed no further sign of immediate bandits, so he nodded to Merlin and started away towards the bracken path once more. "Right. Come on."

* * *

They hadn't gone too far before Merlin's silence inevitably broke and he began picking holes in Arthur's plan.

"If we leave right now, my mother is going to be worried about us."

Arthur acknowledged that fact, but already had a solution prepared. "We'll send her a message once we're clear of the border. We're not at war with Lot, despite how desperate he seems to display my head in varying locations around his castle. A message runner from a Camelot village shouldn't arouse too much suspicion. Letters are sent from kingdom to kingdom all the time, as you well know."

"So you want me to send a letter to my mother telling her that we have escaped?" Merlin nearly threw his hands in the air in despair again. "That'll turn out just fine!" He exclaimed, thoroughly exasperated. "Dear mother. Arthur and I have successfully evaded Lot's forces and are safely on our way home. Thank you for sheltering us and lying to the patrolmen. I'm sure the village will still be standing the next time I visit. Love Merlin. Brilliant, Arthur. Inspired."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "In code, you idiot. We wouldn't make it so blatantly obvious." He sniffed, and straightened his tunic. "Hunith's a clever woman. I'm sure she could work it out."

Merlin inclined his head. That was true. Though he was still not done. "We can't stop too close to the border. There's nothing stopping them from just coming over and getting us."

"Setting foot on Camelot soil is an act of war." Arthur replied flatly. "They won't follow."

"Right."

They couldn't have gone more than five steps before Merlin piped up again. "Isn't that the same rule for almost every land of the five kingdoms?"

Arthur clenched his teeth and rolled his eyes. "Yes."

"Ah. So, you and I are here. In Essetir."

"...Yes." The king did not like where this was going.

"Essetir, which belongs to Lot."

"Yes, Merlin."

"The kingdom whose soil you are currently setting foot on."

"Shut up, Merlin."

"Yes, Sire." Merlin fixed his eyes on the ground, trying to hide his smirk. Despite the look on his face, he hadn't forgotten the gravity of the situation. "Say that Lot abides by the act of war rule-"

"-Merlin!"

"- Even if he does, what's to stop the other bloodthirsty madmen chasing us all the way to Camelot?"

Arthur furrowed his brow. That was a good question, actually. One he had better be able to answer. "As soon as we reach a village, we will send a message to Camelot. What's the nearest village? Lower barrow? The knights will come and meet us."

"Not that they'll have time to get to us." Merlin muttered. "They'll all be after us as soon as they see us."

Arthur grit his teeth so hard he feared a moment that they might crack. "Then we'll have to make sure they _DON'T_ see us, won't we?"

Merlin raised his hands in a half-hearted placating gesture, but didn't say anything further. Arthur had employed his warning tone. It was time to shut up.

They trudged on in silence, stopping occasionally while Arthur surveyed the area for threats. Now that he had been through these woods once, the king had a good idea that he could find his way back. Despite being dragged through them at blistering pace the first time, his extensive knight training had done its job and noted down various landmarks he had not been aware of on a conscious level. The start of the bracken path was near a large rabbit warren, while the steep slope he and Merlin had slid down could be reached by taking a left at a tree that bore an uncanny resemblance to an old man.

Before long they came to the gorge where their mad chase of the day before had taken its interesting turn. Arthur had managed to traverse the bog safely this time, leaving no footprints on the springy tussocks between the pools of filth. At the edge of the gorge (because that, he decided, was a much better description of the thing than 'canyon'), he halted, and strained his eyes to see into the forest on the far side.

The evidence of their chase was clear to see in the battered undergrowth and thoroughly molested bramble bushes. Though he couldn't see too far into the trees due to their growing density the further they grew from the gorge, he could hear voices. Laughter and banter that normally permeated the atmosphere of a camp. He ought to know. Making camp seemed to have become a favourite past time of his and the knights'.

He grabbed the scruff of Merlin's jacket and hauled the gangly servant into the shadow of the huge oak tree that stood at the very edge of the gorge.

Merlin did not protest at being dragged again. He merely threw a concerned glance at Arthur when the pair of them were safely hidden behind the tree. "What is it?"

Arthur frowned, and craned his neck to see over the idiot's head, and the far side of the gorge. He pursed his lips, taking a second to listen to the distant joshing voices. They were too far away to make out exactly what was being said, though the tones were definitely more social than business-like. "Sounds like a camp, just through the trees."

"Bandits?"

Judging by the colourful language? "Most likely."

They couldn't go back that way. With just the two of them, they couldn't run the risk of being spotted. Yet they had to get to the border...

Merlin leant around him suddenly, shooting a glance past the oak, along the edge of the gorge. "There's a way down just over there." He murmured in a low tone, and inclined his head towards a small area of exposed earth littered with aerial roots jutting from the side of the gorge. "If we follow the path below west, it eventually leads up to the ridge."

Arthur's eyebrows rose. The ridge, and the border. "Good thinking."

That he had said those words to Merlin of all people surprised him, but Arthur clapped the skinny man on the shoulder in true manly knight fashion to put across his approval in the clearest way possible that did not involve verbal praise. He had to admit it; Merlin was not completely useless. Weak and girlish with a tendency towards whining, yes, but not useless. His knowledge of the area was proving invaluable. Once sure that the way was clear, Arthur left the shelter of the tree and made for the roots.

It took a few minutes to climb down into the gorge ensuring that their progress was as quiet as possible, but once they were down, the going was much faster. Much of the path was sheltered from above on one side or the other. They only had to worry about being spotted from three of the four directions.

At some point, Arthur would later be unable to pinpoint when exactly, Merlin took the lead for a little while. He knew where he was going, which made things so much easier. All the while Arthur kept a close watch on their surroundings.

There was still no sign of Spumador or Bryn. That annoyed Arthur greatly. As flighty as his bay could be, he was strong, and fast. Camelot knew no better jousting horse. If the stupid thing couldn't be found, then he would have to charge Tyr with finding him a new one. The stableboy had a way with horses, and an eye that was unparalleled. He would do right in finding a new horse... Though Arthur still wanted Spumador...

* * *

Midday had come and gone by the time the ground began to slope steeply upwards. Arthur had retaken the lead once the gorge began to recede and Merlin started to tire. He trudged along with sword in hand, Merlin trailing along wearily after him, arms folded around himself. If memory served, this hill would plunge down into a valley on the far side, which in turn sloped all the way up to the ridge of Essetir, and the Camelot border. Having seen the valley a few times from the ridge, Arthur thought that he could maybe picture it in his head as he climbed. Running on Hunith's porridge, he felt surprisingly weary himself. It was no better than he remembered it, but after the meagre meal of the previous evening, he had been grateful for it. If he was feeling hungry now, it was no wonder Merlin was so weedy having grown up on the stuff.

Finally they reached the brow of the hill, breaking out of the trees into a rocky area that had long ago suffered deforestation. Merlin's feet ached and his legs felt like like two pieces of damp string. Reaching the top of the hill was a blessed relief. He did not have time to enjoy it however, as Arthur's hand was around his wrist, flinging him down into a patch of dying bracken and heather with an involuntary 'oof!'

He opened his mouth to query the king's continued manhandling when his eyes fell on Arthur's reasons. All of them, spread out across the foot of the ridge on the far side of the valley. Merlin's heart sank. Essetir soldiers. Hundreds of them. Milling about near the border and in the valley below. Lot's army had been massed nearby. Why, they still did not know. Somehow, Merlin doubted that this was the real reason.

Only a section of them was here, and they appeared to have been placed strategically to guard the main border crossing points. He cast his eyes along the ridge, able to make out more men positioned in and around the trees. This was a blockade.

Beside him, Arthur spoke, his voice low. "We've known for some time that Lot has had his eye on Camelot. If he was to try and take it now, I have handed him the perfect opportunity."

"Arthur." Merlin turned to his friend, noting the sullen look, and the worry on his face. "That's not true. They have to find you first."

Arthur was silent. Lot knew well enough. He knew that Camelot's knights looked to their king for strength and guidance. Perhaps more than in any other kingdom. To remove Arthur would leave Camelot vulnerable. Without their king, Camelot may well fall. A war would be more easily won.

Despite himself, Merlin swallowed. He and Arthur were hemmed in. The patrol searched to the North of Ealdor, the ridge was under close watch, and the bandits held the South. The only way was further into Lot's territory. They were trapped. Beside him, Arthur shook his head.

"It's only a matter of time."

"Oi." Merlin fixed the king with a stern look. "Don't talk like that. They haven't found you. Not yet."

What difference did it make, really? Arthur stared at the rough ground on which he lay, shielded by the dense undergrowth. He was stranded in enemy territory. Without his knights. Alone. The whole of Essetir was looking for him. What chance did he have?

"The odds aren't great." He uttered, more to himself than to Merlin. "Myself and a sword against an entire army of trained soldiers, bandits, and any layperson in need of coin."

"Hey." Merlin nudged him. "You've got me."

Arthur snorted a gentle laugh, though there was no mirth in it. "That makes me feel so much better."

"I know these woods, Arthur." Merlin pressed, his tone level, a deadly serious expression on his face. "I'm not completely useless. I will not let any harm come to you."

He _was_ serious. Arthur looked at his friend, that familiar confused and uncertain expression on his face that always sprang up when he tried to fathom out his steadfast companion. "You amaze me, Merlin." He said after a moment quietly considering the man next to him. "You are always willing to face certain death for me without question. I can never understand why."

Merlin shrugged, and settled back onto his stomach to resume watching the enemy milling below. "It's my job." He answered, a certain gravity to his words that almost sent a chill down Arthur's spine, before adding lightly "If you die, then there won't be anybody to pay my wages."

Arthur couldn't help the smirk that found its way onto his face at that, and settled down beside his best friend. "Can't have that." He murmured. "They'd miss you at the tavern."

No answer was given to that. No verbal answer at the least. Merlin did squeeze his eyes shut a moment in some semblance of a wince, before opening them again and settling his chin on his arms to watch the soldier's movements.

As they lay there, completely hidden from those working so hard to stop their escape, Arthur began to formulate a plan. As plans went, it was pretty thin on the ground in terms of details, but the bare bones were sensible, and something he could work with. To be exact they were imperative: Get a message to Camelot. Get the knights to Essetir to either find him or negotiate his safe passage over the border to friendly territory. Leave.

Quite how he was going to send this message, he didn't know. Until he had that detail worked out, and the knights could arrive, he had to go to ground. So did Merlin. His manservant was in just as much danger as he was himself. They had to hide, and as much as he hated to admit it, Arthur knew that there was only one place he could do that with any safety.

Ealdor.

The only place in the middle of this hostile region that held any loyalty towards, and any inclination to help him. He didn't want it to be so, but there was no choice. As he had said to the villagers, his presence would place them, and their homes in danger, but his life meant more than his own survival. He was not just a man. He was a king. One who's people looked to him for support, as well as to draw courage. His life could mean the difference between Camelot's survival, its conquest, and its fall. To believe that of himself was neither boastful nor arrogant. It was truth. The knights told him often enough. Merlin told him often enough.

… Merlin.

Arthur glanced to his side at the scruffy man beside him. The clumsy, bumbling idiot who just then looked more cool, more calculating, and strangely, more sharp and dangerous than any military commander as he watched the enemy soldiers. If it wasn't Merlin he was looking at, Arthur could almost believe what the fool had said about not letting any harm come to him; that it was the soldiers who ought to fear.

All the same, as silly as that thought was, he did take heart in his ridiculous friend's presence. Despite all the jokes, all the goading, teasing and banter, deep down Arthur knew that there was nobody who gave him courage and instilled such strong self-belief in him as Merlin. The fine sword at his belt was proof enough of that.

He felt a sudden rise of fear. If anything should happen to Merlin during this sojourn in Essetir... It would be all his fault. Arthur felt a cold pang of worry at the thought, and turned his head away from his friend to focus on the enemy. He didn't know if he could live with himself, should anything happen to Merlin. Especially not because of his own stupid decisions. It surprised him how much that idea frightened him. He had lost Merlin before, and had not stopped searching until he was found. The relief that Merlin was alive had been overwhelming. Had the outcome been anything different... Arthur shook his head lightly, barely perceptibly, though from the brief flick of Merlin's eyes towards him, it had not gone unnoticed. If Merlin had not been found alive and well, he honestly didn't know what he would have done.

His tattered friend was one of the constants of his life. One of the things he knew that he could not do without. Guinevere, Merlin, the knights and Camelot. The four cornerstones of his life that, when one was removed, caused everything he believed himself to be to come tumbling down.

Right now, all of them were under threat. He had to find a way out of this mess. If he didn't, then Camelot would be in danger, and with her, Guinevere. The knights would battle to their last defending both Queen and kingdom, and Merlin would be all to happy to kill himself in service to his king.

There were small creatures Arthur had once read about, that lived in far off lands and were strangely compelled towards throwing themselves from cliffs and drowning. Lemmings, he thought they may be called. Merlin was akin to a lemming in many ways; small, beady, and with a predisposition towards greeting death with open arms. Sometimes his willingness to drop dead was quite alarming.

Whatever happened, though, Arthur was determined to get back to Camelot. There would be no war with Essetir. Lot wouldn't display his head as a rather attractive trophy, and Merlin wouldn't commit lemming suicide*. They would both get back to the citadel, and Guinevere's waiting arms safely and have the biggest breakfast Camelot had ever seen. Because lurking at the back of his mind was the inescapable fact that, despite the army, bloodthirsty madmen, bandits, shifty peasants and violently disposed king standing between him and safety, Arthur was absolutely starving.

Should Merlin have been able to read his mind just then, he would no doubt be trying not to laugh out loud. As anyone who lived in Camelot's citadel knew, and Merlin knew all too well, you didn't get between the king and his meals.

So it was with an uncomfortably growling stomach that Arthur focused himself on the enemy with single purpose, and familiarised himself with their positions, weaponry and movements. He was going to get back to Camelot, no matter what _they_ all thought. He threw a glance at Merlin, finding his loyal servant to still be watching the soldiers with careful concentration and attention to detail. Yes. He was going to get home, and he was going to take his lemming with him.

* * *

**- At last! This chapter is finally done and dusted. Took forever and would not turn out the way I wanted, but it is done. On to the next now that it is out of the way! Also, having to research lemmings for a Merlin story? Didn't see that one coming. Probably weren't known of at all in 6th Century Britain, but I rather like lemmings, and Merlin does fit the bill as a closet lemming with his insistence on dying for Arthur every five minutes.**

*** Lemming suicide is a misconception. They have incredible urges that result in mass migration, often across rivers that are too wide for them. Inevitably, there are casualties. The cliff thing comes from being flung off cliffs for the purposes of film. Glad that sort of thing is no longer encouraged. Poor little lemmings :'(**

**To the guest reviewers, Guest, Said the liar 13 and Guest Mark II: Thank you all! You're lovely! xxx**

**Next: Magic, Arthur's understanding of 'normal' and the shed. **


	4. A different perspective

FOUR

* * *

The return trip through the woods to Ealdor had consisted of more bandit-dodging and bracken diving, but thankfully the local brand of outlaw weren't too savvy in the art of tracking or indeed general observation. More than once Merlin had found himself running wry internal commentary on their suitability as Camelot guards, but had wisely not said anything aloud on the subject to Arthur.

The King tramped a few feet ahead of him the entire way back, managing quite admirably to hover between keeping an eye out for danger and formulating plans for escape. At least, it looked as though he was planning. He had his 'planning face' on. Merlin had found himself impressed that Arthur may actually be multi-tasking. He had thought the King to have given up on the art years ago. After all, wasn't that what he had Merlin for?

At any rate, they had been drained and hungry when they made it back to the village, and had happily inhaled the light meal of bread and cheese Hunith had laid on for them, before Arthur sequestered himself in his make-shift throne room behind the sheet, sat down in his chair and faced the wall. Silent. That way he stayed until nightfall, saying nothing and alternating between resting his chin on his clasped hands and drumming his fingers overly loudly against the chair's arms.

Merlin had left him to it. He had planning of his own to do, and had to ensure that whatever he came up with concerning escape was malleable enough to be moulded around anything that Arthur happened upon.

That was always frustrating. It would be so much easier if he could just tell Arthur his secret. If he was free from its burden, then none of what they faced would be a problem. Maybe he couldn't just walk up to the enemy and blast them into oblivion. Thinking about that sort of thing was thoroughly unattractive and he had convinced himself a long time ago that way madness lay, but there were a myriad of other things he could do to deal with the situation as swiftly and painlessly as possible. Call Kilgarrah for one. He could have the cryptic old nag fly them over Lot's armies and the ineffectual bandits, getting the both of them out of Essetir safely and scaring the enemy out of their minds for added giggles. As much as he didn't like calling on Kilgarrah for petty things, this situation perhaps warranted it. They could be safe back in Camelot by now, and Gwen and Gaius needn't be any the wiser concerning their little jaunt of death.

Life certainly would be a lot easier if he could just use his gifts to get them out of this. But no. Oh, no. That would be too easy, wouldn't it?

Sadly, it couldn't be. No, no. Easy was for other people, not for poor old, put upon Merlin. Nope. Difficult and as annoying as possible, that was the way to go. He let the inevitable bitterness that invaded along with those thoughts go, chewed briefly over the thought that he may be getting old and grouchy before his time, and returned to making his own - flexible - plans.

Unlike Arthur, he did not sit idle while planning. The whole time he mulled, he kept up a quiet conversation with his mother while mixing and kneading the dough for the next day's bread.

As she was wont to do, Hunith had inevitably turned her eyes from her mending basket to Arthur and inquired of Merlin whether or not the King was alright.

"He's fine" had been the somewhat flippant response. "Just thinking. Takes a lot of energy to keep it up."

Arthur's fingers had visibly tightened around the end of the chair arm into what was undoubtedly a death grip, and in dead silence the grinding of teeth may well have been audible. However, nothing was thrown or bellowed, so Merlin grinned and continued making bread.

Arthur's bout of thinking had gone on long into the night. Even as he had lain there staring at the ceiling the whine of his brain working had been loud enough to keep Merlin from dreamland. Several muttered instructions to _try_ and sleep, and repeated bootings to Arthur's shoulder had done little to persuade him and had only encouraged him to begin tossing and turning.

Merlin had managed to withstand it for about an hour before he reached the end of his tether. He himself was bone tired and worried about how they were going to get back to Camelot, but Arthur wasn't even trying to sleep. Anxiety and irritation at himself were rolling off him in waves, preventing Merlin finding sleep almost as much as the bloody tossing and turning and shifting and sighing.

When he could finally stand no more, Merlin visualised the pig pen outside, and the shovel he knew would be resting against the fence there. Silently, he reached for his magic, and used it to give the shovel a prod, knocking it over. The resultant clang and squealing of shocked pigs was loud enough that it drowned him out as he sat bolt upright, stared at Arthur and murmured "Swefe nu" under his breath.

The words themselves and flash of his eyes were missed by Arthur who was already in the process of making ready to rise and investigate the sudden commotion, and it was with only a small twinge of guilt that Merlin watched him crumple in a snoring heap on top of their shared blanket.

He didn't like using magic on Arthur. It seemed wrong, but the prat was literally driving him mad with sleep deprivation. Did he not know that it was a form of torture? So with an almighty sigh, Merlin patiently arranged Arthur in a more comfortable position beneath the blanket, and gently laid his friend's head on the single pillow before curling up himself. Maybe Arthur was snoring, and maybe it did sound like a rampaging pig, but after so many hunting trips and ill-advised quests, Merlin had become attuned to it. The sound of Arthur's brain working was infinitely more difficult to sleep with, and more alien.

So it was with no small amount of gratitude that Merlin found his way into the warm embrace of sleep, and had some rather bland and disappointing dreams he would forget as soon as he woke.

* * *

By the time sunlight streamed through the open windows, Ealdor 's day had already begun. Hunith was up and out to feed pigs and milk her share of goats, while the others of the village went about their morning chores with the same necessity they did every day.

Merlin blinked wearily, eyelids heavy and refusing to respond immediately after deep sleep, and he began kicking with clumsy, deliberate movements at the other end of the blanket in an effort to rouse Arthur. He felt unusually dozy, and it took a moment for him to realise that his kicks were not connecting. Waking up never really left him feeling immediately spry and ready for the day ahead. Even considering moving to an upright position usually took serious consideration and several mental committee meetings before any attempt was made, but he never normally felt this groggy. Perhaps it could be attributed to the fact that he had not woken naturally of his body's own accord, but by a series of obnoxious scuffles and banging sounds.

With a yawn, he raised his head from his jacket and attempted to clear the fuzz from his vision to focus on the figure moving about the small house.

"You're u... uh... uhhhh..." he let the yawn come, and go, before having a stab at words again. "You're up."

Across the room, Arthur halted in his straightening of a chair and cast an incredulous look at his sleepy manservant. "Very observant, Merlin. Well done."

Blinking wasn't working, so Merlin sat up and ground the heels of his palms against his eyelids before frowning at Arthur and his ministrations. "What are you doing?"

"Tidying up."

"... You?"

Arthur ceased in his work collecting the dinner plates from the previous evening into a pile on the table, and straightened, rolling his eyes heavenward. "Yes, Merlin. It may surprise you to learn that I am quite capable of this simple task. Probably more than you judging by the state of my chambers after you've supposedly finished."

"Why?"

The disbelief in Merlin's question sent a tension through Arthur's shoulders that made him look about to fling the pile of plates straight across the room at his servant's stupid, big-eared head. "I don't know. Perhaps because Hunith has been kind enough to offer me shelter from my enemies, and what little food she has. The least I can do is put things away and straighten up what I have disarrayed. Is that alright with you?"

Merlin gave a non-committal shrug. "It's fine by me. You clean my mother's house-"

"- _Mer_lin."

"Honestly, Arthur. It's fine. When we get back to Camelot, you can come and clean my room too, if you'd like."

"Merlin, shut up."

"No, no." Merlin shook his head. "I'm looking at it as... educational. Once you're done, I'll know what I'm doing wrong."

Arthur sent a sort of... knowing, amused look Merlin's way that quietly put the warlock's back up. "You're upset." He reasoned. "Because I insulted your cleaning abilities. Aren't you?"

Again Merlin shook his head. "No. Just, you should clean your own chambers if you can do it better, Sire."

With a snort, Arthur grabbed Merlin's ratty blue tunic from the ground near the blanket where it had been shed the previous night, and tossed it full force into his idiot's face. "Honestly, Merlin." Arthur snorted. "You're like a prissy old woman. Getting uppity over cleaning."

"If I'm so rubbish, why am I still your servant?" Merlin asked, turning his tunic round in search of the hem.

"I really have no idea." Despite the flippancy poured into the statement, there was a slight tremble to Arthur's voice that Merlin of course, latched onto immediately.

"Go on. Why?"

He could see Arthur cursing inwardly, and battled not to let a smug grin settle over his face. Arthur was trying not to 'do feelings'.

"You're like an ugly old chair." Arthur stated after a moment, and returned to scraping crumbs into a heap atop the table. "On the one hand, you're scruffy, irritating to have there and just plain ugly, while on the other my father gave you to me, and now that he's no longer around, I'm loathe to throw you on the fire."

Arthur missed the small flinch Merlin gave at the mention of fire, but not the sceptical question that accompanied it. "So, you don't sack me because I was a present from your father?"

"Essentially."

"Great."

"... Also, George."

"Ah." Merlin gave a sage nod.

Arthur flicked both eyebrows. "Yeah."

There the conversation ended.

With an almighty yawn, Merlin sat up and drew his long legs up to fold beneath himself as he wriggled into his tunic. "It's nice of you to do this." He said from somewhere inside the voluminous fabric. "Mother will appreciate it."

"It's merely a gesture." Arthur returned flatly, hands full of crumbs without a next move.

"It's good." Merlin's head popped out the neckline of his tunic and blinked at Arthur placidly. "Shows humility. You're learning, Arthur."

"You think so?"

"Yeah. I do."

"Good." Arthur cast about for a place to dispose of his crumbs. "I'm glad you're pleased."

Merlin grinned. Through the sarcasm he could detect the quiet truth in his friend's words. "Throw them out the window. The birds will eat them."

Arthur did as suggested and brushed the last of them from his hands. On the floor, Merlin ventured tentatively, "So, do you have a plan?"

For a moment, Arthur didn't speak. He took up a lean on the back of one of the chairs at the table and formed an unusual interest in the far wall. "Not yet. No. I was nearing a plan last night when I dropped off." He furrowed his brow in thought at his own words. "Strange, but I don't usually sleep when I'm planning. Must have been sleepier than I thought."

Merlin did not say anything to that, undecided whether or not he should. "Did you sleep well?" He queried carefully after a moment.

"Like a log, actually."

"And how do you know how well logs sleep?"

"It's just an expression, _Mer_lin."

Yeah, but there was no way he was going to miss a chance to tease Arthur. Was too much fun.

"Anyway," Arthur went on, "before we do anything this morning, we need to ensure that that enemy are still well away from the village. They _cannot,_ under any circumstances, find us here." He straightened, though did not release his grip on the chair back. "The price for the villagers would be too great."

Merlin felt his guts twist. If anything should happen to Ealdor because of them, he would never be able to forgive himself. He swallowed, stomach twisting a little further at what he was about to say next. "Will... you be alright to go on your own?" He blinked, worried that he had held it a little too long as he fought with himself over his words. "I promised mother last night that I would help her move the goats."

"Move the goats?" That raised eyebrow, and those suddenly folded arms told Merlin all that he needed to know. Arthur didn't believe him. He thought that he was scared.

Degrading as that may be, it served his purposes. "They're clever goats."

"Mmm hmm."

"She'll need all the help she can get."

"And she has you. I'm sure it will all go swimmingly."

That hurt. It really did. Even though it was unlikely meant to. Merlin flashed him a sarcastic grin, and got creakily to his feet in search of his belt. Despite how well he had slept after King Cabbage Head had 'fallen' asleep, his body was still insisting that it needed more. "I also said I would clean out the shed. You're sure you'll be alright?"

Arthur threw him a pointed look, likely unaware of the intensity of it. "I have been hunting and tracking since I took my first steps. I'm sure I'll be fine without _you_ to hold my hand."

"Alright."

There was sarcasm in there. Arthur apparently noted it with his highly attuned sarcasm senses, the way he was looking at Merlin, brows pulled into an irritable, questioning point in the centre of his forehead. Merlin had to admit that he was proud of how far said senses had come on since meeting the crown prat, and answered him with a wry smile and a rather good impression. "_I've been trained to kill since birth_."

"Shut up, Merlin."

"You know," Merlin snatched up his belt from the back of the same chair Arthur had been leaning on and looped it around his waist, "I've always wondered about the logistics of that."

"_Merlin_."

"I mean, how exactly does that work?"

"_Mer_lin."

"Did Uther stand at the end of your crib stabbing a doll in front of you and nodding encouragingly?"

"Mer-Lin."

"Or did he draw you pictures?"

"**MERLIN**."

Arthur slammed a fist down on the table, inadvertently causing one of the plates to slide from the pile onto the floor where it broke apart into two clean halves. Both King and Warlock stood there staring at it, dumbfounded.

On one level, Merlin recognised that his mother's plates were already an endangered species, and had been ever since he dropped unexpectedly into her life – probably longer than that, considering what she had told him about his father the other night – while on the other this reminded him of the charcoal-maker's hut, and the pot, and Arthur's guilty face, and perversely made him want to laugh his head off until he was sick. Especially when he looked up and saw that self-same look on Arthur's stupid royal face as he stared at the remains at his feet.

Before he could react, however, Arthur raised his head and stared directly at him. "This is your fault."

"Eh?"

"Why didn't you try and catch it?"

Was Arthur seriously blaming _him_ for this? Of course he was. It was Arthur. "Seriously?" To prove his point, he gestured to the length of his awkward, body.

Arthur nodded, clearly understanding: _'Catch it? Me?'_ "Fair point." He nodded towards the broken plate, wincing a little at the sight of it. "What do we do about this?"

"I'll deal with it. You can get her a new one when we get back to Camelot."

That plan seemed to pacify Arthur. After all, Merlin knew his own mother better than anyone.

"Right." Merlin rubbed his hands together, and glanced about the tiny kitchen area. "Breakfast?"

"Would be nice."

It wasn't long after they started eating that Hunith returned clutching a basket of herbs and toadstools to her chest. She was just closing the door to the dulcet tones of Arthur proclaiming the bread to be rubbish because Merlin had made it, when she must have felt her son's eyes on her.

Sure enough, Merlin was watching her closely, a questioning look on his face. He dropped his eyes to the basket briefly, before raising them to meet hers once again. She nodded, and crossed the room to stow the basket near the stove, and straighten to remove her shawl.

"What's that?"

Both mother and son froze at Arthur's question.

He did not seem to notice their shared reaction, and gestured to the basket with his most practiced pointing finger. "I thought toadstools -" he began matter-of-factly, waggling his finger at the pretty fungus as though it would help get his words out "were poisonous. That's not dinner, is it?"

For a moment, just a moment, Hunith and Merlin looked at one another, gazes brimming with apprehension. Merlin broke the spell with a snort and shook his head. "Of course not, dollophead."

"I've been weeding." Hunith explained with a nervous smile.

Arthur hesitated in devouring his breakfast to look between the two of them, an uncomfortably suspicious look on his face. "Right... and it's normal when you weed in Ealdor to bring the weeds inside?"

"... Yes."

"Why?"

"Is it really important?" Merlin all but snapped. He threw a brief glance at the basket, waving a dismissive hand in its direction. "Some weeds are edible, Arthur. There's some dandelions in there. Lovely with a bit of cheese."

The King raised his hands and shook his head in defeat at the implementing of Merlin's nagging old woman tone. "Al_right_. I was just curious. That's all... idiot."

Merlin sighed inwardly, both in relief that Arthur's curiousity was satisfied, and at how easy it was to throw off his line of questioning. He returned to slicing the bread for Arthur to take with him on his fact-finding mission, mentally waving an incredulous hand and making imagined faces at Arthur's lack of observance and generally alarming level of absolute trust. He had the gall to call Merlin an idiot?

* * *

Morning was already well advanced by the time Arthur finally got his backside out of the house and safely away into the woods, out of sight. Considering how early he had been up, it still took an inordinate amount of time to get him shifting.

Once he was finally gone and the door closed behind him, Merlin leant against it and took a breath. He hated lying to Arthur. He hated it almost as much as he hated leaving Arthur alone to face danger. His friend was capable – very capable – but honestly, Merlin had never met anyone so attractive to certain death. It was necessary in this instance, however, to leave Arthur go on his own. He should be alright. He was going to crawl about in the undergrowth, gurning at hostiles, not run screaming and waving his sword above his head into the massed army at the border.

At least, Merlin hoped he wasn't.

Swallowing down his irrational fear at such a stupid notion, he straightened and returned to the table where his mother had set the basket, and joined her in removing the weeds from it to separate on the table top.

Perhaps he ought to be somewhat grateful that Arthur wasn't always as astute as he should be, and though it made him feel like an absolute woodlouse, he was grateful that Arthur trusted him implicitly. That trust and blindness to the obvious kept his head securely attached to his body, Arthur from discovering all over again what a good source of fuel sorcerers were, and made things like this a lot easier.

As he began to remove the leaves from the herbs, Hunith set to boiling a pot of water over the fire. Even if Arthur had been particularly observant, it was unlikely that he would have picked up any significance in the conversation between mother and son the previous night. After a lifetime of hiding a shared and deadly secret, Merlin and his mother had mastered the art of subtle allusion. She had known exactly what he needed her to do, and exactly how much of each plant he needed her to get. It hadn't taken her long to finish her morning chores and pop briefly to the very edge of the woods to gather the necessary ingredients.

They worked in silence for some minutes, she joining him in preparing the herbs once the water had begun to simmer. His mother knew her way around a herb, Merlin knew. More than once his clumsiness had resulted in the need for a poultice, or a soothing balm over the years. In these instances Hunith's instruction by Gaius had been very useful. Though it had been many years since she had assisted in something of this nature.

He paused. Since the wall of secrecy surrounding the identity of his father had come down, he had been a party to many a story and memory during his visits home. The last time his mother had dabbled in something like this, she had been assisting Balinor in producing a deterrent to ward rabbits off the crops. An unmitigated disaster that resulted in a plague of bunnies, taken care of in the dark of night by lots of running about in the fields, arm waving and shouting unsavoury things in roaring dragon tongue.

… The more he heard about Balinor, the more he liked him. He focused on his work once more, paring the first of the toadstools.

It was a few minutes more silent work before Hunith broke it. "Where does Arthur think you are?"

"Moving the goats. Cleaning the shed." Merlin returned levelly.

"What about when he returns and sees them still in the same place?"

"He'll think I messed up."

She bit back a small smile, unsure whether she should be proud of his confidence, exasperated by his lying, or sad that Arthur should be unsurprised by Merlin's apparent failure.

He sensed her conflict, and flashed her a small smile of his own. "It's fine. If he doesn't believe it... I'll think of something. I always do."

"You're too clever for you're own good, Merlin."

He shrugged lightly against his jacket, as though uncomfortable. "Wish other people would realise that."

Hunith did smile then, reassuring and gentle as she laid her hand atop her son's on the table. "One day they will." She assured him. "They will know exactly how clever you are, and how special."

He offered her a hopeful smile and scraped up his toadstool pieces to toss into the boiling pot. "I know." He did the same with the whole dandelion leaves and began stirring the concoction. "At least the village doesn't have a tavern."

Her light chuckle at that brought one on in him also. He had relayed that particular aspect of his days in Camelot to her in several letters, always ensuring that he blamed Gaius thoroughly for his renowned status as a drunk. At least Arthur couldn't suppose him to have ignored the goats and spent the morning getting absolutely sozzled. "Are the buttercups and rosemary ready?"

Hunith nodded and handed them to her son, watching quietly as he sprinkled them atop the bubbling water.

Merlin took a breath, closed his eyes, and held a hand over it. "Ágeolwe." He opened his eyes, shuttering their brief glow beneath his lashes as he gazed down into the simmering liquid. As he watched, the water lost its translucence, turning a shining gold colour. Satisfied, he gave a nod and stirred it again to let the ingredients infuse properly.

Brewing potions wasn't something he did every day, and truth be told he was never sure that he would have serious need of this one. It had looked handy when he had found it whilst flicking through the old magic books in the library's secret room, so he had practiced it while Gaius was out, and put effort into memorising it correctly. He hoped that he had remembered it right, otherwise the consequences could be interesting to say the least.

Oh, potions and their potential to go disastrously wrong! How he loved them.

He continued to stir it, and gestured for his mother to approach. "Chickweed and mint?"

Hunith dropped the necessary plants into the mixture. Merlin handed her the spoon, but did not take it out of the liquid as he did.

"Keep stirring slowly."

She did as he bade, watching as he drew a chair across the floor and clambered on it to reach the cobwebs draped from the corner of the ceiling. Winding them around his hand to pull them down, he hopped from the chair and took them to the table, pausing to pick the resident spider out and place it safely on the wall he had taken the webs from, before he began grinding them into a paste with the elder leaves and nightshade berries.

The appearance of the berries rekindled the fear in Hunith that she had felt whilst gathering them. Belladonna had many uses, she knew, but its inclusion in her son's potion was worrying. "Are you sure that this is a good idea?"

"There's not much choice." Merlin replied softly. "It's not just Arthur's life at stake. If we're discovered, then the whole village is in danger." He redoubled his efforts in mashing the webs and berries, brows pinching into a thoughtful frown. "Besides, if I do this right, then the magic should nullify the poison."

"Should?"

"Yeah."

Hunith said no more. He knew more about magic than she ever would, and she trusted his judgement. She did know enough to recognise that whatever magic he was performing here was powerful. The use of elder was enough to tell her so. He had forewarned her, though it was something she already knew, that when gathering the leaves she should declare herself and her intentions to the tree, and ask its permission. Just in case she snapped a twig while picking the leaves. She had received no verbal confirmation that she was permitted to harvest the leaves, but did not appear to have been cursed or affected in any way, so assumed permission to have been granted.

She blinked, and swallowed. "_Your_ _life_, Merlin."

"Hm?" He looked up at her, frown still on his face. "What?"

"_Your_ life is at stake also. Not just Arthur's, or the villagers'. Yours."

No answer was given to that. He returned his attention to his web paste. It must be nerve-wracking, he realised, watching your only child brew a delicious toadstool and belladonna draught. He was sorry to worry her so, but it was necessary.

He made his way to the stove, mortar in hand, and scraped the paste into the gold liquid bubbling loudly in the pot, instructing her to keep stirring it.

She did as he told her, watching in distaste as the gold changed to a sickly green.

"Stop, stop." Merlin stayed her hand, and gently pushed her back behind himself, spoon and all. This was it. The moment of truth. He took a series of deep breaths, and closed his eyes, directing his magic into a steady flow and focussing his mind. Slowly, he raised both hands over the potion.

"Béon ondælende eae sé gif sylfym dierneu. Ætlúte sé treów. Néade min feond æt wálá sé léonspell."

With a flash of gold, the green liquid bubbled furiously, turning rapidly blue and darkening to a deep shade of purple. It began to quieten in its boil, dropping to a very light simmer despite no change in the fire beneath it.

Merlin dropped his hands to his sides and gazed at it thoughtfully. Over his shoulder, Hunith peered at it in uncertainty.

"Did it work?"

He shook his head. "I have absolutely no idea. Hand me those phials."

She grabbed the two small glass bottles from the shelf and handed one to Merlin. Her face paled, watching him fill it with potion from the spoon. Once the other was filled also, he held them up between his thumbs and forefingers, looking from one to the other.

"I should really stop giving Arthur potentially fatal poisons." He mused aloud, pinching his brows at the stupidity of his own words. Carefully he set them down on the table and stepped back away from them, staring at them. If they worked...

He shook himself out of it and snatched a length of cloth from the table to pick up the pot and dispose of the remaining potion.

Hunith held the door open for him as he carried the pot outside and tipped it up beside the bench. Unfortunately it was at that moment that the village's men decided to make their return trip from the fields for refreshment. There was no time to dart back inside, or even conceal what he was doing, so Merlin grit his teeth and continued pouring out the waste potion.

Alfred, one of the older men caught sight of the strange doing, and halted, wrinkling his nose in disgust, and possibly slight suspicion, at the foul liquid soaking into the ground. "What in the world is _that_?"

Hunith blushed, and wound her hands in her apron. "Merlin's been cooking." She said the first words that constituted a safe explanation that sprang to her mouth, her nervous hand wringing reading as embarrassment.

"Soup." Merlin offered with a goofy grin.

Alfred frowned. "Why... is it purple?"

"Because it's a disaster."

The older man grunted, and shook his head. He went on his way without further query.

Once the neighbours had gone, Merlin and Hunith breathed easy and retreated indoors. That was close.

Merlin flopped down at the vegetation-strewn table and tried to slow his heartbeat. He swallowed, and resumed staring at the two phials of potion. Perhaps it was a good thing that the people of Ealdor already had him pinned as a bit odd. The sight of him throwing out purple soup was probably still considered pretty sane by most.

The damage it did his ego was negligible at best. The scar tissue of spending nearly a decade being considered a mentally unstable oaf had formed an almost impenetrable armour against further slight, so it bothered him less than it initially would had he never left.

"Merlin."

He looked up to find his mother standing near the table's end, that worried expression on her face. She shook her head lightly. "I'm not happy with you drinking that potion."

"I've had worse poisons."

… That likely wasn't the best thing to say, going by the momentary look of abject horror that flickered across her face.

"I know you have." She murmured shakily. "I wish you wouldn't keep on drinking them. You'll do yourself a damage."

He almost laughed out loud at that, but refrained in fear of hurting her feelings. "It's my job." He supplied after a moment.

Hunith gave a pained expression. "I know your destiny is to protect Arthur-"

"No. It's actually my job." He interrupted her. "I'm paid to enjoy delicious poisons so that King prat doesn't have to."

The look on her face then was difficult to describe. It was as though she flitted back and forth between bewildered, angry, and exasperated. "Doesn't he have a food tester?"

"Yeah. Me."

That was horrible. For a moment, Hunith didn't know who to be most angry with. Arthur, for callously allowing his servant and _best friend_ to put his life on the line like that; Merlin, for being silly enough to actually endanger himself that way, or herself for being so naive. Whichever way, she looked as though she wanted to be angry at somebody.

Merlin frowned and decided that he should say something. "I don't have to do it." He admitted cautiously, aware that any wrath she would originally have rained down on him would now be at least trebled, "Arthur doesn't know _I _do it. But I'd far rather I did it than nobody, and Arthur actually be poisoned, or some poor serving boy who can't help himself. Gaius has taught me well. I can recognise a lot of poisons, and know which spells to use to purge them." He managed a light shrug and threw her one of his most (hopefully) adorable grins. "I must be doing something right. Arthur's still alive. Not lying entombed with his great forebears – and Uther – below Camelot. 'Here lies Arthur, Once and Future King. Sadly met with death upon ingestion of a deadly chicken leg'. I'm not dead either. Look." He held his arms out to the sides turning a little way to and fro. "I've been eating his food whether he likes it or not for the better part of a decade. I think maybe I have the hang of the whole not dying from poisoned beans lark."

"What about the not dying from potions made out of deadly plants lark?" Hunith returned like lightning, her hands on her hips.

Merlin cringed, looking more than a little sheepish in his tentative smile. "There's dandelions in there too. They're not poisonous."

Hunith softened. "Merlin."

"It'll be fine." He insisted, reaching for her hands as he had used to do when living with her and in need of comfort. As he had done since he could raise his arms by himself. She obliged him and took his hands, rubbing gentle circles over the backs of them with her rough thumbs.

"I worry about you, Merlin."

"You shouldn't."

"I'm your mother. It's _my_ job."

The grin he gave her then was true. He missed her. He really did. "The magic will nullify the poison." He reiterated. "It's perfectly safe. Probably. I was more at risk from the rat guts in that one Gaius gave me."

That she snatched her hands away from him sent alarm bells clanging in his head.

" He gave you what!?"

Ouch. Merlin flinched. That was his foot in his mouth and Hunith's up Gaius' backside. He really ought to think before opening his mouth in front of her.

"I'm going to have words with him." She turned and stalked over to the stove and began scrubbing furiously at anything which even resembled a mess left by their potion making.

Merlin didn't say anything to discourage her. No force on Earth could discourage her once she was determined, he knew. Instead, he turned his attention back to the two phials on the table in front of him.

They just sat there innocently, being... purple. He folded his arms on the tabletop and propped his chin atop them, watching the phials, attempting to stare them out. If the potion worked... if it did its job, and for once didn't blow up in his face, then it may be one problem solved. It wouldn't get them out of trouble completely, but it may make things a little safer.

For perhaps the thousandth time since he and Arthur had wound up bolting through the woods trailed by screaming bandits, he found himself wondering how the hell they had managed to find themselves in this situation. Arthur, outwardly at least, was taking it all in his stride.

Being King meant being under threat of horrible death from everyone and everything. At least, that was Merlin's understanding of the role since meandering into Camelot. It was a phenomena he was quite well acquainted with in himself. People always wanted to kill him for one thing or another. Normally having magic. Secondly for his insistence on protecting Arthur. Morgana wanted him dead twice over and didn't even know it. He had never had a whole kingdom wanting him dead before. That was a new and rather unpleasant experience.

It was also disconcerting. Very rarely did anybody want _Merlin_ dead. Everybody who knew that Arthur had one wanted his secret defender dead. Morgana wanted Emrys dead, but few people wanted _Merlin_ dead. Why would they? He was an inconsequential serving boy, useful only for bringing Arthur his meals and hiding behind trees when danger rode into town. What worth was he?

A frown settled on his face, unpleasant butterflies flapped in his belly. Unfortunately, somebody had worked out his worth. Not as a powerful sorcerer of prophecy, but as Arthur's constant shadow. He went where Arthur went. He saw what Arthur saw. He heard what Arthur heard.

He knew what Arthur knew.

Somebody had realised that. He did not like that. Not one bit.

Half of what allowed him to protect Arthur, and Camelot, so effectively was his anonymity. The bandits were looking for him. Lot wanted him tortured for information. His anonymity had been stripped away. That was frightening. More frightening than he had thought it would be.

Right now, Arthur was out getting a look at exactly what lay between them and home. The areas of forest that were still safe to travel, the trails and streams that were under watch, and the movements of men no doubt venturing further into the forest, and inevitably closer to Ealdor. They would reach the village at some point. It was possible that they would first go South to Engerd, seeing as they had already searched Ealdor once, but they would be back. Before that happened, he had to get an idea of what was going on out there. To do that, he would have to move without detection, and be able to see everything he needed to see.

He reached out, and tapped the corks in the top of the phials with the tips of his forefingers. He had an idea, but it would have to wait for nightfall. When the village, and Arthur, would be fast asleep...

* * *

**- A bit of delay on this one, hey? Sorry. This is one of the few of mine that is being written chapter by chapter before posting, so tends to take me longer to get anything written. Struggled with this one a bit, too, what with the change in viewpoint from Arthur to Merlin. Even now evil forces are conspiring against my posting this as a bloody wasp keeps coming out of nowhere and chasing me away from the computer desk. Fear not, it is safely imprisoned under a glass, to be carefully released with hopefully no hard feelings once this is posted, ala Merlin and his spider. Hope it reads okay and that my ham-handed attempts to create intrigue bear fruit.**

**Thank you all for the lovely reviews! It's great to get an idea of how this story is being recieved. Also to those who don't reveiw but follow and read, thank you all! You're all wonderful individuals X**

** Also, I'm glad to know the lemming comparison was enjoyed.**

*** Swefe nu - Send to sleep behold/now.**

*** Ágeolwe - Make glitter as gold.**

*** Béon ondælende eae sé gif sylfym dierneu. Ætlúte sé treów. Néade min feond æt wálá sé léonspell - Not just yet ;)**


	5. Night flight

FIVE

* * *

The clearing was dark, flitted through by shadows that could be hiding any number of patrol men or bandits. The very thought sent a shiver down Merlin's spine, but he held firm and refrained from retreating to the shadow of a nearby hazel tree himself. He turned about, illuminating the nearest area of tree line with the small orb of blue light in his palm. Initially he had felt a stab of vicious nerves at the thought of using magic out in the open this way, but following what he had just done, logic dictated that being caught holding a ball of magic was the less surprising of the two.

Locating the clearing itself had not been as easy as he had first thought. Having not actually lived in Ealdor for close to ten years, the clearings he had known as a child were markedly less clear suddenly, thus of no use to him. After managing successfully to disentangle his feet from between King Clotpole's knees, get dressed and slip out of the house without waking said King, he had traipsed (quietly as he could) through the woods to the east of the village for what must have been a considerable amount of time until he had stumbled across this particular clearing. Heading deeper into Lot's territory to search had seemed his best bet for a place undisturbed by patrols and curious banditry. To find a space that was wide enough, and devoid of trees of any age had been harder than he had first thought that it would be. This one had been logged recently, but not so recently that there would be any remaining workers about to finish up.

So, now that he had found it, and done the thing that he was certain had been heard in all five kingdoms and would bring the full force of Lot's army and bloodthirsty bandits descending on him at any minute, he had nothing to do but stand there looking spare in the dark, holding his light ball as though it were the most comforting thing in the world.

He did not have to wait too long before the swoosh of wings could be heard approaching overhead. Merlin dispelled his light ball and took a step back, throwing his arms over his face to shield against the sudden battering he received from wood chip and sawdust thrown up under the wind generated by Kilgarrah's arrival.

With a great backwards thrust of his wings, the Great Dragon came to land in the clearing. The ground shook beneath his weight as his claws touched earth, and he lowered his head in deference to the unsteady warlock before him. Kilgarrah folded his wings at his back and settled himself down upon the ground. That, coupled with the look on the dragon's face made Merlin wince. It seemed likely that his call had woken Kilgarrah. The result was a rather impatient, ratty dragon.

When Merlin failed to speak right away, Kilgarrah tilted his head to look down on the tousled dragonlord below him, and raise an 'eyebrow'.

"I trust, young warlock, that you have reason for calling me here?"

"Yes." Merlin paused, considering exactly how he ought to phrase what he had to say. At such a late hour his brain did not want to assist his mouth, it seemed.

"And that is?" Kilgarrah prompted, his well of patience apparently run dry.

"Arthur and I are in trouble."

"When are you not?"

Merlin shook his head, suppressing a smile at that. Kilgarrah was being serious, and would unlikely appreciate mirth. Best get to the point. "We're stuck." He explained, folding his arms tightly around himself both at the chill in the air and at how foolish his words sounded. "The woods are crawling with bandits and Lot's men. They have cut off our escape. We can't get back to Camelot."

"And what is it that you expect _me_ to do about it?"

Really? Not a lot. The idea of using Kilgarrah to get rid of the threat, or even to get both him _and_ Arthur out of Essetir had already worn itself out as a possibility with all the times that Merlin's mind had mulled it over. From the left or the right, above, below, upside down and inside out, it was something that was never going to work. It had far too many pitfalls to have _any_ chance of _ever_ being successful.

Aside from the very public display of Camelot's magic-disliking (because 'hating' wasn't really the right word, was it?) King and his manservant gliding over the heads of their enemies to safety on dragonback, there was the whole issue of Arthur realising that the 'mortal blow' he had supposedly dealt the Great Dragon was not quite as mortal as he thought. Not to mention that calling the dragon in the first place and actually having it turn up _may_ just make Arthur a _teensy _bit suspicious. The alternative of simply laying Arthur out with a lump of wood and chucking him up on Kilgarrah did not work either. While clumping Arthur with bits of wood/equipment/anything to hand hefty enough for the job was a tried and tested solution to many, many problems, this was not one of them. Explaining how they managed to evade the ravening hordes out for their hides may prove too difficult even for Merlin.

No, no. Escape and or devastating the army was not an option. While baking the whole of Lot's forces into submission may be one sure way to save Arthur's life, Merlin could not condone it. They were men with lives and families. They did not deserved that, even if they were planning to make him into a rather attractive wall hanging for their master's castle. Killing had never appealed to Merlin, and certainly not on such a scale. He had to keep Arthur alive, but the situation was not dire enough to warrant that. Not yet.

No. He had something else in mind.

A slightly self-satisfied smile on his face, Merlin cocked his head to look up at Kilgarrah, a question on his lips.

"How low can you glide?"

The expression on the Great Dragon's face was... different, to say the least. His 'eyebrows' raised, he lifted his head a little as he gazed down on the young man below. He certainly seemed more awake suddenly.

* * *

Keeping track of the phases of the moon was useful. Aside from its importance in magic, knowing how much light there would be readily available on any one night was always handy. Tonight, there was a new moon, leaving the sky dark, and starless behind a heavy blanket of ugly rain clouds.

Kilgarrah cut through them, buffeting large swathes of them aside with each sweep of his great wings. He arced around to make a pass of the forests between Ealdor and the border, keeping high up in the cloud cover as he did. Atop his ridge scales, Merlin perched, his arms looped around one of Kilgarrah's horns. Normally he would relish every moment of this illicit night flight; fling his arms out to the sides and whoop with joy , his head thrown back to feel the wind whipping by him; that incredible feeling of freedom he could experience nowhere else.

Tonight he wished that he had possessed the forethought to bring his jacket. His flimsy tunic afforded him no protection against the chill so high up.

Far below, the glow of numerous camp fires could be seen among the trees. Kilgarrah tucked his wings along his sides, and dove. The Great Dragon plummeted towards the earth, wind racing past his huge body as he dropped like a stone. Merlin held on for dear life, his stomach left behind in the clouds somewhere as he fought to draw breath against the air rushing at him with such force as he had never felt before.

The treetops were approaching fast. Cold fear gripped him with all that it had, turning his blood to ice in his veins. He clung tighter, afraid that his grip was giving under the strength of the wind. His stomach twisted, clenching almost as tightly as his fingers as he struggled to hold on, his knuckles white. They were so close to the ground!

He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to look any longer.

Kilgarrah's wings snapped out, catching the air beneath their membranes and thrusting him up, above the trees to send him gliding gracefully over their shivering tops.

Merlin opened his eyes, blinking back tears from the onslaught of freezing wind, and drew a much-needed breath. He found himself grinning, watching the forest go by below the still, almost silently moving dragon. Centring himself, concentrating, he took in what he could see between the trees.

There appeared to be more men than he could see in the lit areas around the camp fires. There had to be, he knew. Just like he knew that Kilgarrah was taking in everything on the forest floor with each to and fro turn of his head.

A creature of Kilgarrah's size could not go undetected for long. Even without flapping, and the cover of darkness. Cries of 'DRAGON!' rose from the panicking soldiers they had already disturbed with their passage and the great rumble of Kilgarrah's bulk through the air above them.

Merlin did not worry too much. Sat right up on top of the ridge scales, in the darkness, his enemies could not see him. Only the great, dark shape that was Kilgarrah's underside.

A couple of spears flew from some of the braver men, some knocked aside by the quaking forest canopy. Those that did make it through headed for Kilgarrah's tail. Merlin turned a little and held up a hand.

"_Awend__é*_."

They halted in mid air, shuddered, and fell uselessly back to earth.

Turning back to face forwards, he lowered his head a little and drummed the long fingers of one hand against Kilgarrah's horn.

"_What do you see?_" He asked silently, casting about towards the darkened woods away from the fires. Kilgarrah's night vision was far superior to his, he knew.

"_Many men._" Came the dragon's reply within his mind. "_The woods are closely guarded. Escape this way on foot would be nigh on impossible._"

"_You can see no clear paths?_"

"_All are under watch. Lot's men are well organised. Were I to scatter them, your task would still be difficult indeed._"

They could not even attempt that, or Arthur would know that Kilgarrah was alive.

They were coming up on the ridge. The situation there did not appear to have changed, either.

"_Circle around._" Merlin instructed, throwing a dirty frown down at the massed army having a cook out at the tree line. "_Head south, towards Engerd._"

Kilgarrah did not argue and tilted his body, heaving himself upwards with a great flap of his wings.

Merlin held on, frowning to himself in thought.

Arthur really had no idea how difficult he was making things by shunning magic. While this was all very exciting (or should be, had it not been necessary at such an unreasonable hour, and had he brought his blooming jacket!), it was wholly unnecessary.

Blinking, he felt his shoulders begin to sag, and clung a little closer to Kilgarrah's horn, aware that Kilgarrah sensed his movement from the deep rumble echoing in the dragon's chest behind him. Kilgarrah was trying to keep him awake.

Merlin yawned, and swiped a hand over his eyes. He didn't know if it was a good thing that he was so totally unphased by a secret night time scouting mission over a vast army of deadly soldiers and thugs on dragonback. What did it really say about the normality of his every day life? Then, what had his mother told him when he was little?

That while he had to hide his magic, not let anyone else see, or know, it was good not to be normal. To be normal was boring.

Normal people got to be in bed at this time of night. Their own bed, or patch of dry earth on the floor, as it were, and not lie there awake half the night getting booted by Kings who were sound asleep and obliviously dribbling all over the only available pillow and murmuring sweet nothings to an absent Guinevere.

Yep. There was nothing at all attractive about being normal.

If he had to be 'abnormal', why couldn't he at least be so in the open? If that were the case, then Arthur could be up here with him and they could be heading home, to their respective beds, and lumpy pillow that got hugged, and a Guinevere who was actually present to appreciate the otherwise strangely creepy sweet nothings. If only Arthur knew half the things Merlin did for him in an effort to keep his royal backside alive, let alone safe...

"_It would certainly be much easier, should Arthur be aware of your gifts._" Kilgarrah's voice chimed into Merlin's mental tirade rather unexpectedly. "_However, Arthur is not yet ready to learn of such things._"

"_I know._" Merlin returned sleepily. "_If I told him, he'd probably use me as kindling, or have me strung up from a lovely custom-made gallows. Couldn't say he never gave me anything, hm?_"

"_Perhaps you judge the young Pendragon too harshly?_"

"_Yeah. Might get lucky. Might just toss me in the dungeons for the rest of my life._"

"_... Merlin._"

"_I know._" Merlin sighed deeply, and shook his head, rubbing at his eyes with thumb and forefinger. "_I'm just tired, and grumpy._"

"_To hear you, anyone would believe that you hold a grudge._"

"_I do. He's got the pillow. I haven't had it once._"

Kilgarrah chuckled aloud, the sound a pleasant rumbling that rose a smile to Merlin's lips. He tutted and shook his head. "_I know that he's not ready to know about me. And I know that day will come. That doesn't stop me wishing it had already come so that we didn't have to be out here, doing this._"

"_That day will come, Merlin. When it does, when the time of Albion is finally upon us, Arthur will know, and magic will return to Camelot." _

"... It never left." Merlin muttered under his breath, but he appreciated what Kilgarrah was saying.

No reply to that. Kilgarrah turned his attention on the ground far below, and tucked his wings along his sides to dive.

Merlin blinked hard, and prepared himself for the unnerving sensation of free fall. Down below he could see the houses and barns of the village of Engerd. Perhaps if Ealdor's neighbour was not occupied by the enemy, then he and Arthur could run there in a pinch? It was worth knowing, though they would not be able to stay long. Outside of Ealdor, there was nobody that they could trust.

Kilgarrah _had _been asleep when he called. The dragon had been curled up in a large, cosy cave at the summit of the Feorre mountains, so had not been too far away. That information had given Merlin a flaky, but possibly plausible second choice for himself and Arthur. Engerd was a stop on the way to the mountains. There would likely be enemy soldiers, if not bandits in the Forest of...

He swallowed.

… The Forest of Merendra. If they could safely make it through there, then they had a second place to hide in the cave at the foot of the Feorre mountains, where Balinor had hidden. It was habitable. It was safe. It was relatively unknown, and certainly had no known connection to either himself or Arthur. It _was_ further inside Lot's territory, but a safe haven that was available to them nonetheless. Engerd was a possible stop on that journey, should they be forced to leave Ealdor without a chance to gather supplies.

From above, the town looked deserted. There appeared to be no soldiers patrolling the streets, no bandits sneaking about. At so late an hour, there was nobody.

Nobody Merlin noticed, at any rate.

As Kilgarrah passed overhead, he did not see the lone figure stood beneath the tavern's porch, nor glimpse it when the dark shape of Kilgarrah surprised it and shocked it from its lean.

As an innkeeper, there was little that Ned claimed not to have seen. Even as he stood staring after the dark shadow gliding overhead, rustling the awnings of neighbouring businesses and strewing hay over the slick street on which his inn stood, he realised that this was yet another thing he could not claim to have never seen.

A dragon.

His breath stilled in his lungs.

A living, breathing dragon. It had been more than twenty years since he had seen one last. He had heard that one remained, but that it had been killed by Prince Arthur of Camelot some years previous.

Standing still beneath the porch, he watched the great beast wheel around as it passed over the village, and circled around to head North, back over the village and out to the woods towards Ealdor. He may not be the quickest when it came to movement. Having fallen out of a tree whilst fooling about as a child, fast movement did not always come easy, but his eyes were sharp. As it drew nearer, its head lowered as though searching the streets, lit up by the torches burning along the street edge, he sighted a small shape atop its neck.

The shape of a person.

Again, his breath stilled.

There had only ever been one type of man able to ride the dragons, to have them so tamed as to do it.

A Dragonlord.

Yet, the last had been killed. So what was a dragon doing ferrying a man about?

Thoughtful, he ran a hand over his beard and frowned. The creature passed by with a rush of wind that almost knocked Ned from his feet, before rising to take flight once again over the forest and away into darkness.

The innkeeper watched it go. Curious stirrings had been afoot of late. A reward offered for the elusive King Arthur of Camelot, supposedly at large within the kingdom. Lot's soldiers frequenting the woods and making the occasional search of the village – poking at hay with swords and whatnot, and now a dragon making night time sweeps of the woods and villages? Under command of a Dragonlord. A Dragonlord who should not exist.

This all reeked over much of scandalous doings. Something else an innkeeper could not claim to not have seen. Where there was scandalous doings, there was often money bandied about. A lot of money, where kings were involved.

He resumed his lean against the porch strut, and drew thoughtfully on his pipe. Money that many who could do with a penny would turn to scandalous doings of their own to collect.

… A lot of money...

* * *

By the time Merlin stumbled back through the door into his mother's house, the sun was already cresting the horizon. Blinking bleary eyes, he kicked off his boots and collapsed into bed. He burrowed beneath the covers, a small smile on his face between rather loud mouthings, and relaxed into the blissful comfort and gentle caress of sleep.

His excursion had proved fruitful, at least. He now knew which areas of forest were designated enemy camps, which streams were under watch, and that every main path leading into Ealdor from the West was blockaded by enemy troops. He knew all this as well as Arthur did now, probably better than Arthur did. Kilgarrah's eyes had been able to pick out much more than his own.

Any chance of escaping into Camelot's lands through the Western woods was nil. They could however, move East. That would take them further into Lot's territory, as he had realised before, but the thought had since crossed his mind that it may be possible to cross the border into Alined's lands to the South, and circle around up into Camelot territory, or to go out into Tir Mawr across the Northern border.

That, of course, would have been far too easy once the treacherous villagers, unknown terrain, hungry wolves and routine patrols were taken into account. Oh no. _Far, far too easy._

Tir Mawr was neutral ground, so Lot would have absolutely no qualms about following them over the border and slaughtering them amid the pleasant change of scenery. Heading South would likely do them no favours as, while Alined would certainly not kill them himself, he would likely be all too happy to hand them straight over to Lot in return for a generous helping of gold.

So, open space with no law to offer them protection on one side, and a git in a crown on the other. Hm, decisions, decisions. It all depended really on how they would prefer to die. Fighting like men, or gift wrapped? Which Arthur would choose was pretty clear, even without the King's input, and seeing as Tir Mawr was pretty bald in terms of trees to hide behind, things could get awkward very fast once the need to start blasting everything whilst standing out on full display arose. Nope. Not an option. Arthur didn't need to know about any of the options recently looked at either, or they would be setting off for Tir Mawr in a bluster of manly running within the hour.

After a freezing night on dragonback, totally devoid of sleep, Merlin couldn't see himself running anywhere, manly-ly, or not thank you very much.

No, no. Sleeping was much more attractive right now, and that was just what he intended to do. He had been looking forward to this.

Sleep had just begun to claim him when, under a spasm, his leg jerked out and connected with a severe lack of clotpole. That wasn't right. Merlin snuggled his cheek into his pillow and kicked out, in search of Arthur only to find the King missing.

About to raise his head and look for Arthur, something cold and slimy landed on his cheek. Merlin winced and drew his head a little under the blanket.

"Ah!"

"Good morning, Merlin. Sleep well, did we?"

Grimacing, Merlin peeled back the blanket and turned his head to peer up at Arthur, looming over him, fully dressed and awake. "Why aren't you asleep?"

Arthur barely reacted to that stupid question, the most extreme acknowledgement of it being a roll of his eyes. "Where have you been? Are you going to tell me? Or do I have to torture it out of you?"

Merlin froze. "Ummm..." Questions raced through his mind: how much did Arthur know? How long had Arthur known that he was missing? Did he know where he had gone off to? Did he know why? Did he see the light Merlin had conjured? Did he see Kilgarrah? Did this? Did that? How did this? How did that? When? What? WHY!?

Arthur shook his head, that irritatingly high and mighty expression on his face, and drew a chair around to straddle, positioned right behind Merlin's head that he could fold his arms on the chair's back and look down directly into the blustering servant's suddenly very pale face. "Don't try and deny it, Merlin. You've been gone most of the night."

"But..." Merlin frowned, turning onto his back that he looked up at Arthur. "You were asleep."

"Yes." Arthur conceded in a somewhat throwaway tone. "I _was_ asleep. Until some idiotic cabbage head tried to shove his foot between my knees." He rubbed nonchalantly at one eye, and blinked a moment as though something had got stuck inside. "Forgive me for this line of thought, but when something ventures so close to areas unspoken, that internal warning bell that most people have tends to sound and... I don't know... wake them up that they can take evasive action. Before you try, I don't want to know what your disgusting feet were doing so close to me."

"I didn't put them there!" Merlin shot back defensively, quietly outraged. "You grabbed them."

Arthur raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "_I_ grabbed them?"

"Yes."

"_My _knees grabbed _your_ feet?"

Merlin lifted his head from his jacket that he could give a definitive nod. "Yes."

"Don't be so stupid, Merlin. Why would my knees grab your feet?"

"I don't know! They're _your_ knees."

Arthur opened his mouth as though to retort, but apparently thought better of it and changed the subject. "So are you going to tell me where you went?" He set a finger on his servant before Merlin could try and answer, "And don't even think about saying the tavern. I know for a fact that there are no taverns in Ealdor."

The very suggestion that he would say himself that he had been in the tavern made Merlin frown. Though it would have been a good excuse.

He had to come up with something else and fast. "Umm..."

Arthur did not appear patient this morning. He must not have had breakfast yet. "Well?"

_Think of a lie. Think of a lie! _

"I was...with a girl."

The expression on Arthur's face was naught but disbelieving. "You?" He managed, one eyebrow raised. "With a girl?"

Merlin gave that self same definitive nod again. "Yeah."

With a huff, Arthur reached behind to the wall, fingers groping at the windowsill. "Come on" he plucked something from the sill and dropped it onto Merlin's forehead "where were you really?"

The thing landed with a wet splotch. More awake this time, Merlin grimaced and reached for the offensive object. Immediately his fingers brushed it he knew what it was.

"Ugh!"

He flew to a sitting position, swiping at his brow and wiping his hands on the blankets. The slug landed near his feet and shrivelled into an indignant-looking ball, closely followed by the earlier one that had been slithering its way across his shoulder.

"That's just disgusting, Arthur."

"I don't know." Came the smug reply, Arthur's chin resting on the back of the chair. "I thought it was quite funny."

"You call _me_ an idiot."

"You are. Among other things."

Merlin's frown deepened. He was now wide awake and continued wiping the slime off his hands on the blanket. "What 'other things'?"

"Rude, for one." The King put on a show of thinking, though apparently even the semblance of thought was too hard to maintain for too long. "Irritating. Disobedient. Disrespectful. Surly. Petulant. Clumsy. Very, _very_ clumsy. Do you see what these things have in common, yet?"

"Not really. Unless it's all of them being used to insult me."

"They are all reasons for me not believing you when you say that you spent last night with a girl."

"Since when has being disobedient been anything to do with that?"

Arthur sat back and waved his best demonstrating hand. "And you wonder why I don't believe you?"

"Well," Merlin pushed back his blanket and got to his feet, silently lamenting the fact that sleep had eluded him "I was with a girl, whether you believe me-"

"-Which I don't."

Merlin ignored that and stretched, his back giving a series of satisfying pops that made Arthur cringe "-Or not."

"What was her name?"

"I'm not telling you that."

"Why not? Because she doesn't exist?"

"I doubt she wants everyone to know."

Arthur Straightened in his chair, perking up now that breakfast appeared to be heading his way as Merlin headed for the stove. "Ah, _I _see. You're _preserving her virtue_."

"Something like that."

His mother must have gone out prior to his arriving back, Merlin noted. She had not made any porridge, but had put water on to boil gently over the stove. She must have been expecting him back soon. He wondered how likely it was that she knew where he had gone. She knew that he was a Dragonlord – had always known that he would likely one day be – and she knew that he often turned to the Great Dragon for assistance. This was a situation in which he needed assistance, so...

Kilgarrah had been a very useful ally the previous night, as he always was when Merlin could understand him. He had seemed glad to head back to his cave, and to sleep (that Merlin was not allowed!). Venturing out in daylight was not something he liked to do these days unless called, or migrating from place to place, as he had been the previous day. He had been quick to head off once he returned Merlin to Earth, and after expressing a wish to be kept informed of the situation. He was going to keep an eye out and do the same for Merlin.

"-More likely to save her from embarrassment." Arthur murmured, just loud enough for Merlin to hear, and grinned when his servant huffed and tutted. He was not finished poking at this. "So how much cider did you give her?"

Merlin's shoulders slumped. Now that was just insulting. Arthur believed him about the girl, at least. Better go along with the drink idea. Just to keep things believable. "_She_ gave _me_ enough." Merlin returned off-handedly, feeding a couple of logs into the stove.

At Arthur's disbelieving snort, he clenched his teeth a moment. "What?"

"Nothing, Merlin." Arthur replied innocently. "Don't you worry about it." Before his composure failed, he spluttered and turned his face into his folded arms atop the chair back and laughed out loud.

"What?" Merlin turned to face him, his hands on his hips. "Is it really so hard to believe that girls might like me?"

"Would you like me to answer that, Merlin?"

Nothing was said to that for a moment, Merlin pulling a face and turning his back on Arthur to interfere with the fire beneath the stove once more. "Girls do like me."

"Don't be preposterous, Merlin."

"They do. Sometimes."

"Name _one_."

_Freya_. Merlin swallowed, and blinked, before setting thoughts of her aside. He was not going to use her in a stupid man competition with Arthur, no matter how much the King's jibes were actually demeaning him. He racked his brain, trying to think of someone. He didn't normally notice female attention. So much of his time was spent running around after Arthur, cleaning up the trails of domestic destruction in the King's chambers and general wake, polishing his ridiculously large collection of armour and saving his life that his head was filled with little else. There was very little time for girls in his day to day life. Even Freya had landed in his life without permission, so to speak. Not that he was complaining about it, nor would he ever.

"Mary." He blurted out suddenly.

"Mary?" Arthur had his sceptical face on. Merlin didn't even have to see it to know that it was there in all its glory. "Who, pray tell, is Mary?"

"You know." Merlin straightened and glanced at his King with a blank expression, dusting the ash from his hands. "The innkeeper at the Boar's head. Said she liked me and not you." He took on a false recollective air, openly grinning at the memory. "I think her exact words were that I'm 'a handsome fellow'."

From the sour look on Arthur's face, he remembered it, too. "Alright. Name another."

"Aelonwy, from the Lower town."

The King snorted. "The woman with the vegetable stall?"

"Yeah."

"She's a thousand years old!"

"And a girl, and she likes me." Merlin threw a thoughtful glance at the ceiling, feeling the tips of his ear begin to burn. "She says that my 'lovely cheeks are like little rosy apples'."

"Then she must be colour blind and deluded." Arthur retorted with a smirk. "There's nothing rosy or applish about them. Or am I misunderstanding exactly which cheeks she means?"

"Arthur!" The way his voice broke was simply mortifying. It sent an embarrassed flush running rampant across Merlin's cheeks. Quickly he turned back to the stove and resumed looking busy, just to hide his embarrassment.

"Come on, Mer-lin." Arthur challenged, rocking his chair hard a couple of times that it bounced a few steps across the floor towards his friend's turned back. "You must be able to do better than that!"

For a moment, Merlin said nothing. The conversation had lost its appeal already, and continuing it really did not interest him. Anything he said would be taken down and used against him in evidence, he knew. It would be all around the armoury and the training field the moment they got back to Camelot. Arthur would go bounding around his knights, skipping about like the cat who had got the cream, giggling like a little girl 'Merlin's got girlfriends!' He'd be like an excited little girl, twirling his pigtails and spreading his gossip. There were reasons nothing of such a personal nature ever passed Merlin's lips, and it was sitting straddling a chair and looking overly pleased with itself.

"Mer-lin." Arthur singsonged. He reached down and picked up the stick Hunith used as a poker from the floor, and jabbed Merlin in the back with it. "Name one more girl. Just one more who has ever expressed any interest in you. Ever. Just one. Come _on_!"

"Gwen."

Just fire it out there. With no consideration of the consequences. This was exactly why lack of sleep was bad. Merlin winced at himself, and hurriedly began searching around for the porridge.

The scrape of the chair behind alerted him to the impending assault, and still he was not quick enough.

"_Mer_lin!" Arthur set his threatening finger on his servant's back.

Alright. Merlin screwed up his face. Maybe that was a _little_ unfair, but Arthur was being a prat, and he had had enough. "Not now!" He clarified, trying to sound sorry. " A long, long time ago. When we first met. She _might_ have had _some_ feelings for me. Definitely not now."

"My wife has never had feelings for you!"

"Nope. None. Never."

"Merlin!"

"It was a long time ago. Before she even knew you." _._

Arthur had hold of him suddenly, spinning him round to face him. Before Merlin could speak his eyes crossed and focused on Arthur's threatening finger, the tip jabbed dangerously close to one of them.

"If I find out that any of this is true..."Arthur bit his lips, staring back at the look of surprise on his prize idiot's face, and stabbed Merlin in the nose hard with his finger.

"Ow."

"Nobody ever hears of it." Arthur amended, staring Merlin right in his watering eyes. "_Ever_. Understand?"

"Nobody hears of it ever. Got it." Merlin confirmed, blinking. So, Gwen had likely confessed to him already? That was lucky.

"Good."

Arthur released him and cuffed him playfully around the head before returning to his 'throne' and flopping down in it gracelessly. "I hope you're feeling stronger than you look this morning." His 'pleased with himself' smile was back, tinged with a hint of sardonic malice that made Merlin uneasy. Things Arthur was pleased with himself over were normally a cause for worry.

"Why?"

"Well, since we're stuck here until we get a chance to contact Camelot, I thought that we had better blend in."

Merlin did not react beyond the slight narrowing of one eye. Arthur held his grin steady, "So, I have volunteered us to assist with the harvest."

Contrary to the elongated groan and girlish whining Arthur had expected to emanate from his servant, Merlin remained surprisingly composed and unresponsive beyond the rise of both eyebrows and a set of surprised blinks.

"Help with the harvest?" Merlin asked incredulously. "You?"

"And you." Arthur tried to press the point. "We begin this morning. Right after breakfast."

"Riiight." Pouring some oats into the boiling water, Merlin began to stir, both literally and figuratively. "You do know how much work harvesting is, don't you, Arthur?"

"Of course I do _Mer_lin. What do you think I am?"

"A dollop headed King who has never held a sickle or a flail in his life."

"I _have_ held a flail! I thought you of all people would remember that."

"Not one of these." Merlin murmured under his breath, and continued tending to the porridge.

Slightly annoyed, Arthur shifted on his 'throne'. "How hard can it be?"

"What do you do with a sickle and a flail, Arthur?"

"Why..." Arthur paused. "You... sickle things with it, of course. Stalks and things."

Oh dear. "And a flail?"

"Ah!" The King straightened, suddenly sure of himself. Flails he knew. "You beat things with it."

"What things?"

Merlin was being surly again. Arthur refused to let it rile him. "Grain, presumably. You beat it once you sickle it."

"It's called threshing."

"Fine. You _thresh_ it."

"And then what?"

Now Merlin had his serious face on. That was always a cause for concern for Arthur. It meant that they were on a subject Merlin knew more about. "What do you mean 'then what'?" Arthur blustered.

"Once you've finished threshing an entire field by hand." Merlin folded his arms and sent a pointed look the King's way. "Then what?"

The possibilities made a quick pass of Arthur's brain, the most likely being zeroed in on hurriedly. This was not being received the way he had clearly been hoping it would.

"Well?" Merlin prompted him. "Do you know what happens next, or not?"

"I'm not an idiot, Merlin! You... pick it up."

"No. You winnow it."

Arthur's expression went totally blank. Winnowing was not something he had heard of apparently. Merlin resisted the urge to rub his eyes. "You throw it in the air more or less, to get the insects out of it and separate the chaff."

"Sounds fun. Then you pick it up?"

"Yeah."

"And throw it in a cart and bring it back to the village."

"Right." Merlin nodded. "Except we don't have a cart. It got burnt down when Agravaine found us here."

"Oh. So?"

"So we have to bag it up and carry it by hand."

"Ah." Arthur put on a big smile, the sourness underlying it shining through rather beautifully. "Well, it will be bracing. Might actually get some muscle on those pathetic little arms of yours."

"And you back on the original holes in your belt."

"Merlin-"

"I know. Shut up."

"Good."

So that was a new plate Arthur owed Hunith, and a new cart for the village. One could almost see him cataloguing and listing any other things he had destroyed in Ealdor, directly or indirectly.

Shaking his head, Merlin got on with making breakfast. He wasn't entirely sure what to make of Arthur's act of generosity and neighbourliness in volunteering them both for the harvest. Being an old hand at it, the idea wasn't particularly worrying to the farm boy turned manservant. Admittedly he could not be sure how pleased the other denizens of Ealdor would be to have 'that clumsy oaf who always drops everything and can't tie a knot for porridge' back among their number in the fields. Still, it was almost worth the irritated sighs and dirty looks for the chance to see Arthur Pendragon of all people whacking the living daylights out of a field and prancing about tossing grain in the air.

A small, slightly subdued grin began to spread across his face. Maybe being stuck behind enemy lines was about to reap its own rewards, so to speak...

* * *

Night was drawing on. The evenings were already beginning to grow cooler. Leon shuddered against the chill and pulled his cloak tighter about his shoulders. Not for the first time he found himself quietly bemoaning his agreement to take the night watch from Gwaine. Apparently the rogue knight had a burning desire to take Percival to the tavern.

That was a new one. What had he said?

'It's not for myself, you realise. I have it on good authority that the sweet little kitchen maid Percival's had his eye on is heading there tonight. Who are we to stand in the way of true love, my friend?"

As it was for Percival, apparently, Leon had felt as though he ought to agree. After all, Percival was particularly enamoured with said kitchen maid. It had been the source of much laughter, joking and the heartiest of hearty shoulder punching for many weeks now. Percival rarely asked for anything. Leon frowned, and settled himself back against a pillar to look out over the courtyard in silence. Percival _never_ asked for anything. He had not even asked for tonight, even though he had indeed headed towards the tavern with Gwaine.

Leon was no fool. If indeed Gwaine was simply skiving off, then Leon figured that he would let both he and Percival be. So long as he was considered clueless over it, there was no harm. He was nothing if not fair, and with Arthur away, as acting first knight of Camelot, if word were to reach him that Gwaine had been creative with the truth, then it was well within his power to have the most churlish of Camelot's knights work it off in the armoury. Gwaine could sit there and work his way through the rather extensive collection of armour alongside Merlin, who would doubtless be banished there in punishment for something or other when he and Arthur returned from their sojourn into Essetir.

Another shudder ran down Leon's spine, though he could not be sure that it was for the chill air alone.

Arthur's announcement at the Round Table that he would be heading into Lot's kingdom to investigate the rumours circulating Camelot's border towns had not sat well with any of his men. The original Round Table least of all.

Gwaine had almost hurled a wine pitcher (an empty wine pitcher) at Arthur when he heard that only Merlin would be going with him. What to the less close knit of the knights appeared as a jealous tantrum, Leon and the others knew for what it was. Gwaine did not take kindly to the idea of Merlin being placed in danger without him, and dragging him along to carry Arthur's luggage was placing him in danger as far as Gwaine was concerned.

Silently, Leon observed the activity in the courtyard with a practiced eye. He watched the servants to-ing and fro-ing, carrying out their allotted tasks with varying degrees of efficiency and dedication. His eyes followed Galahad the squire as the boy hurried up the steps into the citadel, a heavy tome clutched under one arm likely for return to the library. Two of his fellow knights descended the steps to the courtyard, chatting animatedly and making hand gestures. All seemed quiet, and well.

Yet he could not shake the uneasy feeling that something was not right. Arthur had been gone too long. The others felt it also – Elyan, Percival and Gwaine. Gwen was uneasy and distracted, and Gaius spent the majority of his time furiously concocting remedies for any and all ailments he could bring to mind. Something was amiss. It was unlike the King to be gone for so long without word. He had not been gone long enough to bring the matter to the attention of the council. Gwen had asked that they wait one more day before bringing others into it. To do so would begin to create unrest. She did not want to do that until it was completely necessary. Though, her own unrest was clear as she told him, pacing her chambers and wringing her hands, worrying at her bottom lip between sentences. Even had he not known her so well as he did, the truth of her restlessness would have been impossible to deny.

He was restless in himself. While Arthur could look after himself – Camelot knew no better warrior – if there turned out to be truth in the rumours...

Leon drew a quieting breath, and pushed himself to stand straight. He was meant to be on watch. Perhaps he should patrol a little? It may be cathartic to his racing thoughts.

The cobbles felt reassuring beneath his feet. Skirting the outside of the courtyard, Leon kept his eyes roving over those passing in and out through the various doors and the gates. His idea that movement may quiet his thoughts proved to be null and void as worry for Arthur continued to repeat on him. So much could go wrong with the King's idea. All of his knights had protested it vigorously, but Arthur had been adamant. He wished to go alone. He would not listen to any voices of reason. All suggestions that Lot may capture him, that the rumours may be true, that setting foot on Essetir soil was an act of war went over the King's head. His heart was set on it, and his mind would not be changed. He was to go alone, incognito, inconspicuous, absolutely solo. With Merlin.

Leon's pensive frown deepened. While he worried for Arthur, he unlike the others of his fellows worried much less about Merlin. Gwaine had continued to be vocal on the subject of Merlin's becoming endangered for several hours after the initial Round Table meeting. He had trailed the King's manservant all over the castle as Merlin endeavoured to complete his duties and prepare for imminent departure, spouting reasons why going alone without any knights for protection was ludicrous, and that Arthur was a stupid, headstrong fool for even considering it, let alone actually deciding to do it. Merlin would not be talked out of going, just as Leon, and even Gwaine had known that he would not.

'Wouldn't want to miss another chance to die for Arthur.' Gwaine had bitten sarcastically.

'You said yourself. This one's worth dying for.' Merlin had returned in that level, reasonable way of his, and that had been that.

Leon shook his head. Merlin was much less of a worry to him than Arthur. All of them considered Merlin their friend, despite his lower status (after all, why should such a thing matter? How many of them were actually nobility? Besides himself, of course) and how much they teased him, yet none of them were overly worried for him. Perhaps it was the young man's uncanny ability to survive every fracas without so much as a graze. Merlin trailed Arthur everywhere; was the King's constant shadow. He went everywhere that Arthur went, did most things that Arthur did. Merlin could be relied on completely. Perhaps Arthur joked that his servant was a coward who hid behind trees at the first sign of danger, but Leon knew without a doubt that should any situation arise that posed a threat to the King, Merlin would not hesitate to pick up a sword and defend Arthur with his life. For such an insubstantial waif, Merlin's war face was positively fearsome. The King's retainer was tougher than he seemed.

Sir Godfrey had made Leon frown once, by referring to the servile population as 'disgusting insects.' While Merlin was certainly more often than not disgusting as he spent an inordinate amount of time smeared with horse dung from the King's stables, he was certainly not an insect. Though, Leon tilted his head in thought, if Merlin were an insect, he would almost certainly be an ant. They were busy little creations; small, with skinny little legs and 'arms', able to carry much more than their own weight. At times Merlin seemed to bear the weight of the world on his slight shoulders, though nobody could say why. Also, for all that Arthur called him idle and useless, Merlin was a very busy little creation. He was always doing... something. Even if what he was doing was erratic and sometimes just outright bizarre. He rarely sat idle, and in the instances that he did, he read. That had surprised Leon when he had first learned of it. Surprised and impressed him. He'd had no idea that Merlin was literate, and had not even considered the possibility until Merlin told him.

'You really think Arthur writes those brilliant speeches?'

He had laughed at that, and clapped Merlin on the back, supposing it to be a joke. Until he had found himself in Arthur's chambers relaying details of the arriving Carleon delegation one day and witnessed over Arthur's shoulder Merlin looking over a speech Arthur had penned himself. Leon had not known what to think when Merlin simply tutted, shook his head and screwed the parchment up, tossed it over his shoulder and replaced it with one from his own pocket. Arthur must have known about it. With senses finely honed by years of training as a knight, there was no plausible way that the King had missed the noise of his own speech being destroyed with extreme prejudice. Yet he had not said a word and read the speech Merlin had prepared for him without even a flicker of surprise. To top it all off, the speech had been magnificent, and earned a raucous round of applause after its delivery. Merlin was a man of many talents. Not least good luck charm.

Every battle, every skirmish that Merlin was present for, the knights always returned victorious. Leon hoped that the streak would hold for the King's latest adventure.

He had made it about half way across the courtyard's long side when a shout rose from the guards posted at the drawbridge. It was almost drowned out by the ring of horseshoes on the cobblestones.

Leon's head snapped up, surprised to find the guards rushing to stand beneath the portcullis waving their arms. They both dove aside, out of the path of two horses careening across the bridge and into the courtyard at a gallop. Immediately Leon moved forward to intercept them, reaching for the trailing broken rein of the lead horse. The second was grabbed by a familiar panting figure, red-faced after pursuing them into the courtyard.

The moment Leon laid eyes on the horses all thoughts of good luck charms fled and his heart had sunk into his boots. Even as he struggled to calm the snorting, foaming bay before him he threw a glance at the black horse behind it. As always, Bryn had calmed first, held still and quiet in Tyr's grasp, his head dipped, panting heavily. Spumador raised a leg and struck out, pawing at the ground, his eyes rolling, flanks slicked with sweat.

It was not the state of the horses that worried Leon, but their very apparent lack of riders.

"Easy." He soothed Spumador, circling the skittish stallion in an attempt to quiet it. "Easy."

"I'm sorry, Sir Leon." Tyr apologised between panting breaths. "They came to the stables, but Spumador's just so flighty. He got away from us before we could get hold of him. Bryn followed him. He follows him everywhere, you see. It's all he knows."

Just like his master.

"It's alright, Tyr." Leon assured him, managing to finally halt Spumador, though the stallion still snorted and struck the ground. "Tell me." He ventured, heart pounding in his chest, belly constricting with nerves. "Where are Arthur and Merlin? Were they with the horses?"

Tyr shook his head, suddenly afraid. "I-I don't know where they are, Sir. The horses were alone when they arrived."

"I see." This did not bode well at all. Cold fear gripped Leon with icy fingers. He pulled his years of training to the fore and pushed down the fear. "Can you please take the horses back to the stables and tend to them?"

"Yes, Sir."

Handing over Spumador's reins, Leon watched a moment to be sure that the stable lad would be alright with both horses before turning on his heel and striding briskly across the courtyard to the castle steps. This was a terrible development. So far from the city, Arthur and Merlin would not have abandoned their horses. The alternatives were all grave indeed. He took the steps two at a time and quickened his pace to just short of a run through the doors at the top. The Queen needed to be informed of this, and search parties despatched.

Swallowing, his palms sweaty beneath his gloves, Leon fought back the horror rising in him at the thought of anything having happened to Arthur and Merlin. The knights would not leave either of them injured or dying out there. He just had to hope that the King and his faithful manservant were within Camelot's lands, and not horseless inside Essetir's borders. Things may become a lot more dangerous if that were the case, and their chances of survival would suddenly become a lot slimmer.

If the rumours were true, then Camelot itself would be in danger if the King was lost. If Arthur was dead, heaven forbid, then his enemies would be all over Camelot like flies to honey. Leon swallowed, and counted his steps, tried to ground himself and concentrate beyond his grief. Guinevere had to be informed. The Kingdom may have to prepare for war...

* * *

**Waw, sorry about the wait. Made the mistake of publishing two tales here at the same time, so have been working on one and then the other in between work, work and MORE work. Not conducive to staying awake as I conked out face down on my bed for several hours after getting home earlier and then flew into a panic as I thought it was tomorrow morning and that I was late for work. Oh, the life I lead! Still, shameless plug time. Go check out my other story - In all but blood - it's my pet project and though it doesn't star Arthur and Merlin, I am falling in love with writing it. **

**This chapter ended up so long that I had to slice it in half. Hopefully the next will be up in a few days, as you can probably guess, things are actually about to start happening, Kilgarrah and the knights are joining the fun :P Also, I want to ride Spumador. He seems like a fun ride! **

***_Awend__é_ - Turn aside/turn from.**

**Thank you for all the support and feedback this story's getting! If I haven't replied to a review, let me know and I'll get on it. I'm a bit scatty at the mo so am tending to miss things :( **

**Nance - Thank you so much! The chase sequence was all I had to begin with and all additional ideas have germinated after :P**

**Guest - I'm glad it made you laugh! I love Merlin and Hunith interaction. Merlin always puts himself second to Arthur, doesn't he? As much as it annoys me on occasion. **


	6. A problem shared

SIX

* * *

"I'm dying!"

"Don't be such a _girl_, Merlin."

The smirk on Arthur's face was beyond annoying. Merlin held back a moment on any witty retort to brace his palms against his lower back and stretch out the aches. "Do you have any idea how shattered I am?"

Arthur threw a glance at him over his shoulder, that smirk still prevalent on his irritatingly sweat free face. "A little manual labour too much for you?"

"A little!?" With a frown, Merlin dropped his hands from his poor back and hurried after his master, aware that Arthur was leaving him behind. "You call that a _little_ manual labour?"

"Hasn't done me any harm." In demonstration of that fact, Arthur spun around that he walked backwards facing Merlin and held his arms out to the sides. "See?"

"You haven't done anything!"

"Nonsense!"

"You just sat there watching me do all the work."

Arthur did not say anything to that right away, but paused at the door of Hunith's house to allow Merlin to catch up with him. "I did no such thing."

"Oh?" Merlin shoved past him, not bothering to hold the door for him as he went. "What would you call sitting on your backside while I thresh barley?"

"Supervising."

"... Supervising?"

Arthur gave a nod of great certainty and conviction. "Yes. I am a King, and Kings supervise."

Was he serious? Merlin stared at Arthur in total incredulity. After a moment, he shook himself out of it and threw his hands in the air. "Sorry! My mistake, _Sire_. How dare I suggest that you were being a bone idle toad when in all actuality you were so very hard at work."

Arthur gave a bright grin and collapsed wearily into a chair. "Good. Glad you understand. Now, what's for lunch?"

Two days. Merlin took a calming breath and turned away. Two days of back-breaking labour threshing the fields while Arthur did a bit here and there. Volunteering for the harvest meant volunteering _Merlin_ quite clearly, whilst expecting all the usual servile tasks completed in between. What was all that about humility?

He raised his eyes to meet those of his mother where she had stood at the stove preparing soup. Her expression was a cross between irritated and concerned. More than anyone else she could read her son like a book. That he was almost shaking with anger, she could not miss, nor the tell tale glint of very faint gold beginning just around the rings of his irises.

"Arthur." She called out to the King hurriedly, struggling to keep the panic out of her voice.

"Yes, Hunith?"

"Be a dear and fetch me a chicken, would you?"

Arthur straightened in his chair, a hopeful expression crossing his face. "Chicken?"

Hunith forced a smile and nodded. "Yes. I think we can manage a chicken for supper tonight." Before he could delegate the task to Merlin, she turned her attention on her son. "Merlin, set the table, please."

Without a word, Merlin complied. He ignored Arthur completely while the King stood and headed outside.

Immediately the door was shut, Merlin stopped what he was doing and took up a heavy lean on the table. His shoulders began to shake. The pans and crockery on the shelves began to quake with a loud rattling of iron and pottery.

Hunith left the stove and moved to her son's side. She lay a hand on his shoulder, reaching for one of his with her other. "Merlin. Calm down."

"He is such a prat." Merlin spat, his eyes squeezed shut.

"Merlin." Hunith ducked her head that she looked him in the face. "Look at me, son."

He did, opening his eyes tentatively to look back at her with blazing gold irises.

Hunith released his hand and cupped his cheek tenderly, a look of deep concern on her face. "You must calm down."

"I know." He blinked, attempting to rein in his magic and dispel the gold. "I just feel so..." He heaved a sigh, and shook his head. "For all that it's my destiny to protect him, sometimes I just want to-" he did not finish but raised his hands and made throttling motions in the air.

His mother smiled in understanding, and caressed his cheekbone with her thumb. "I know, Merlin."

"He's my friend, and a great King." Merlin murmured, more to himself than his mother. "But sometimes he really misses just how much of an arrogant idiot he can be. Then other times?" He shook his head again and raised his hands to rub over his face. "I never doubt my destiny, but sometimes I still can't believe how much of a clotpole he is! Everything has been so peaceful recently. No Morgana. No attacks on Camelot. Then _this_. It's like he decided to go looking for trouble, then ignores me at every turn when I try and get us out of it. Sorry, Mother."

Hunith shook her head, gazing up at him throughout his rant, her eyes filled with love and pride. "No, Merlin. Don't be sorry. Sometimes things can get a bit much for us. You have to shoulder more than most men are capable of, or deserve. If your patience has worn thin, then let it be thin for a moment. Let it be, and calm yourself down."

He nodded slowly, and exhaled a deep breath. The crockery stilled and stopped rattling, and the gold faded from his eyes to leave them soft blue once more.

Hunith squeezed his arm, a bright smile on her face. "There now. You sit down and I'll set the table."

"What about the soup? Do you need me to prepare some bread?"

"You just sit down and have a few minutes off your feet." She paused, and bit back a small, amused smile. "Arthur may be some time. I doubt somehow that he is very experienced in chasing chickens."

Merlin couldn't help the cool chuckle that came over him, his mother's plan suddenly very clear to him. The thought of Arthur being outsmarted by chickens didn't particularly help him when he tried to chase away his giggles.

It was very rare that he felt murderous towards Arthur, even if by murderous he meant 'would willingly punch repeatedly in the face'. After days and days of the King's company with no chance of respite, and no knights to dilute it, Merlin found his considerable patience depleting very quickly.

However much Arthur was the other side to his coin, Merlin had come to realise very fast that sometimes one side of a coin needed to be just that. One. It wasn't even as if he could run away to the woods for some time on his own. Not when they were full of vicious murderers. Until he and Arthur were safely back in Camelot, there would be no alone time beyond the five minutes or so he could catch while Arthur was out of the house.

So Merlin sobered himself and reviewed the events of the past two days.

When Arthur had decided not to be useless and lazy, and had actually picked up a flail to join in the harvest, he had not been silent. The King had conversed with various able young men, picking out those he thought would be most likely to make it through the woods to Camelot without raising too much suspicion. He had been putting out feelers, searching for anyone willing to carry a message to Guinevere for substantial reward. So far he had not found anyone able to leave the village for the required period of time it would take to get to Camelot and back.

Merlin knitted his fingers and clasped his hands on the table in front of him. It really had been days now. With no word from Arthur, the others back at Camelot would begin to realise that something was wrong. Once they did, a contingent of knights would be dispatched to the border. That could be very, very bad. A small party of knights – and he had to face it, they would not be just _any_ knights, but Arthur's most trusted – would be no match for what they were riding into.

Even if they sent a scout ahead, things could get very hairy once the two forces started facing off at the border. Gwaine constituted a force in himself when riled, but Leon would not be content to leave it at just the four of them facing Lot's army. While that was very sensible, things would escalate very quickly indeed once he realised that Arthur was in fact behind the enemy lines, a message would be sent and within days the full force of Camelot's army would be assembled atop the ridge engaging in a collective gurning match with Lot's men below.

Maybe he was catastrophising, but it was so likely to happen it was almost a certainty.

That type of scenario was exactly what Lot liked best, apparently. As a King, he reportedly found diplomacy boring. Word had it that he was never happier than when engaging in a spot of lazy Sunday afternoon warfare with one or two of his neighbours. He would treat the chance to eyeball Camelot's army as an afternoon perusal of wares down the market, deciding who he was going to keep and who he was going to send to the block if the fighting didn't off them first. Once he conquered Camelot and claimed the remains of its army for himself, of course.

If Camelot went to war with Essetir without Arthur at its head, the Kingdom may well fall. Especially if Arthur managed to get killed in the meantime. Lot knew that, and it was an opportunity too good to miss.

Groaning, Merlin flung his arms out across the table and thumped his forehead down on the gouged old wood. "Ow."

No wonder he was feeling so fed up...

* * *

He must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew Arthur was traipsing in through the door covered in sweat and feathers and stalks of dry grass. Merlin pushed himself upright and considered his King carefully, noting of course, the severe lack of bird.

"No chicken, then?" He asked in a too-happy tone, a bright grin on his face.

"No."

"That's fine. There's plenty of soup."

Arthur pointedly neglected to say anything to that, and flumped down dejectedly in a seat beside Merlin. He nodded his thanks to Hunith as she set a bowl of soup before him.

Lunch passed mostly in silence, with Arthur admitting after an enquiry by Hunith to having got stuck in the chicken house briefly after pursuing a hen inside, not realising that there was a tiny 'portcullis' on the far side specially for the use of the birds.

The image of Camelot's mighty King crawling backwards in defeat from a chicken house having been deceived by a mere hen made Merlin snort soup through his nose, cry out at the sharp slap his shoulder suffered and moan inwardly that two Kingdoms may be about to go to war for that same King.

The silence became more comfortable once everyone had eaten. Merlin volunteered to clear the table before they had to return to the fields, while Arthur recovered from his ordeal reclined in his chair picking fibres of parsnip from between his teeth.

Hunith had just finished preparing the water to wash the bowls when Merlin faltered in his journey from the table and the bowls fell from his hands to the floor with a loud clatter.

Hunith whirled to face him, terror on her face at the sight of him hunched over, his hands pressed tightly to his ears, a wince of pain on his face. "Merlin!"

Merlin drew a shaky breath, and blinked. He raised his head and glanced from his mother to Arthur who had leapt up from his chair, concerned. "I..." He swallowed "I'm fine." He breathed, voice small. "Headache." With a wince, he shook his head again, his brain feeling as though someone had been kind enough to ram red hot needles into it from all sides. "Just need a drink. Probably a little heatstroke after this morning."

Hunith nodded, to him, clearly sceptical of his explanation, and made to pour him a mug of ale. She really did know him too well.

Arthur sat back down, keeping a level eye on his friend.

Merlin flashed him a pained smile, and slowly dropped his hands from his ears. Taking a deep breath, he bent to retrieve the bowls, reaching out mentally as he did. "_I'm here. Did you really have to shout?_"

"_There is a patrol approaching the village, young Warlock._" Kilgarrah's voice came back to him, clear as a bell.

A stab of cold fear sliced through Merlin's belly. "_Where are they? How far?_"

"_They approach by the Western path. You must hurry, Merlin. They are almost upon you!_"

What did that even mean?! How much time did he and Arthur have to hide!? Would the same trick even draw all of them off this time!?

His eyes darted to the shelf, and the two phials of purple potion sitting innocently on the lowest of the two, a little frothy after the earlier shaking. Before he could speak there came a heavy knock at the door.

"Sire!" Peter's voice filtered through the wood.

"Arthur's head shot up. "Peter?"

"Sire!" The old man called back. "Lot's men are coming!"

Without a word Arthur leapt into motion, snatching his knife from below the blanket on the floor constituting his bed and slipped it into his boot.

Merlin acted also. He snatched the cup of ale from his mother's hand and swallowed half of it down, bidding one of the phials into his hand while Arthur's back was turned. It leapt from the shelf into his waiting fingers and he yanked the stopper out and upended it into the remaining ale.

Setting his nerves, he turned and held the cup out to Arthur. "Here."

The King glanced at it quickly and shook his head. "There's no time for a drink, Merlin."

"You've been out in the sun all morning, too, Arthur." Merlin reminded him levelly, an earnest expression on his face. "Drink it. We can't have you fainting if we need to fight."

Arthur eyed the cup, indecision on his face. Merlin nodded in encouragement and waved it at him gently.

"Go on. We don't know how long we'll be in the hole this time. Just knock it back."

With a nod, Arthur gave in and took the mug.

Merlin watched with bated breath as Arthur lifted the battered clay mug to his lips and swallowed both the ale and potion down in one hefty gulp. The way Arthur threw his arm over his mouth and screwed up his face did not bode well for the potion's effect on the palette. "Merlin! That's off! It's like vinegar!"

The servant lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "Really? Didn't notice."

"How could you not?!"

Merlin shrugged again and grabbed for his jacket where it lay discarded across the back of his chair.

Arthur was already dashing out of the back door after Hunith. Merlin followed, pausing to grab the remaining phial, make a face of disgust pre-emptively and swallow down the contents.

As soon as he stepped outside he found himself grabbed by his upper arm. His stomach planted itself firmly in his boots, an Essetir soldier had hold of him, dragging him away towards the centre of the village away from the path leading down to the piglet pen, where he could see Arthur running away to, oblivious.

He just caught himself shy of calling out. Nobody was pursuing Arthur. They had not seen him.

Silent, Merlin let himself be dragged away. He let out a quiet grunt, flung to the floor by the soldier and left there. Before he could gather his wits and stand, several strong hands had hold of him, hauling him to his feet. They belonged to some of the other villagers, Luke and Alfred and Peter, helping him up to stand among them.

Desperately Merlin cast about for Arthur. There was no sign of him with the other villagers who had been herded to stand together at Ealdor's centre. His mother was a few feet away, her eyes set firmly in the opposite direction as not to draw attention to him, or her fear for him.

A couple of mounted patrol men circled the gathered citizens, keeping everyone close together as the others of the patrol gathered up any stragglers from the nearby houses and brought them to the village centre.

A touch on his shoulder drew Merlin round to find Arthur beside him suddenly. Though the King did not look at him. Arthur's eyes were set on the men circling them.

Merlin's gut clenched in terror. Arthur was stood beside him, dressed in one of Balinor's old tunics that had clearly seem better days, smothered from head to toe in dust, chicken feathers and chaff, but even underneath all that, he was clearly Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot. It would not take much to surmise that he himself was Merlin with his proximity to Arthur. Despite that, there was no way that he was going to move away from Arthur. Not now.

As calm as he could be under the circumstances, he reached for his magic and drew it to him, holding it just below the surface. If any move was made on Arthur... He had no choice. He would not hold back.

The patrol men stopped circling and held at the perimeter of their gaggle of villagers. At their head, a lean, dark-haired man sat astride a fine chestnut horse. He surveyed the captive men, women and children of Ealdor with a self-assured tilt to his head, a small, sour smile upon his face. He wore leather armour similar to that of the other men, though his was slightly more ornate and worn over chainmail.

Merlin recognised him from the initial chase through the woods days back. The patrol's captain.

On his right, Peter shifted uncomfortably.

"Gaheris." The old man told Luke in a low tone, the youngest of Ealdor's farmers throwing a fearful look up at the Captain, his hands beginning to shake at his sides.

The name meant nothing to Merlin, nor Arthur by the looks of things, though it could be that the King had not heard, focused so intently on his enemies as he was. Whoever this man was, there appeared to be reason for the villagers to fear him.

Atop his horse, Gaheris held up a hand. "Silence!"

Immediately the villagers' nervous chatter ceased. All eyes were on the man in front of them.

Lazily, Gaheris let his hand drop to rest atop his thigh, the other closed casually around his horse's reins. With a flick of his dark eyes, he marked out exactly which of his men held position closest to the villagers, before turning his attention back on his captives to address them in a strangely mellow tone made all the more casual by his thick accent.

"Word has reached us of a very... disconcerting nature." He took a breath, a façade of disappointment about him that made Merlin uneasy. He went on, eyes never ceasing in their roam over the villagers before him, "The news that King Arthur Pendragon has been spotted among you. Working in your fields."

Merlin held his breath. He closed a hand around Arthur's wrist to prevent him from doing something chivalrous and stupid. He did not miss the slight ease in tension in his friend's shoulders at his touch, nor the gentle shift in several of the villagers around them that the men surreptitiously moved closer together, shielding Arthur from view.

"If you give him up now. Then no more will be said about it." Gaheris' voice drifted through the deathly silence in the village. "However, if you fail to comply, then be aware that our King's judgement will be swift, and it will be harsh. Harbouring an enemy of the Kingdom is an offence punishable by death."

There was only silence.

All shifted in discomfort, some a little closer together again that Arthur was completely concealed. No one spoke a word.

"You." Gaheris raised his hand rather theatrically and pointed to Luke. "Is there truth in this news?"

The boy jumped, his shaking hands clenched into fists at his sides, but he shook his head. "I don't know any Arthur Pendragon, Sir." He stated with a shake in his small voice that was barely audible as anything other than usual nerves at a situation of danger.

Gaheris scrutinised him a moment, before turning his attention elsewhere. "What of you, woman?" He demanded of Maria where she stood nearby the men hiding Arthur. Merlin stiffened, a pang of nerves hitting him. Maria was Will's mother. Her son's death during Kanen's raids had hit her hard. To his relief, she shook her head.

"'Fraid not, Sir. Only the men of our village tend our fields after what happened with the raiders here."

"You?"

Again Merlin's heart juddered in his chest. He felt the tension in Arthur's arm as they both heard Hunith's voice.

"There are no Kings here." She returned confidently. "I have already told you. If he was here, then he has already moved on. We do not question the identities of those we show hospitality to."

The look on Gaheris' face was very much that of a man unsatisfied. He did not linger on Hunith. Instead, his eyes roamed backwards over the others of the village, coming to rest on a golden head just visible between the shoulders of two of the burlier villagers. "You there."

Merlin's heart catapulted to the edge of arrest as the two men in front of Arthur were commanded to move, and expose the King.

"What of you?"

Arthur stared back at Gaheris expressionless. It took him a moment to realise that it was in fact he who was being addressed, his face taking on that most confused of his confused expressions. He glanced about with a frown, his lips pursed that they rather resembled a duck's. Uncertainly, he raised his hand and pointed to his own chest. "Me?"

"Yes you." Gaheris stared back at him in irritation, slightly... disappointed?

"Have you seen King Arthur?"

Merlin felt a bump against his shoulder as Arthur physically jumped in surprise, but made sure to remain silent.

Utterly confused and unsure, Arthur looked around at the other villagers. None of them would look at him.

Gaheris did not appear patient. "Speak! Or the crows shall have your tongue."

"Uhhmm..." Arthur drew his eyes away from those around him and met those of his enemy. "... I... Uh..." He cleared his throat, Merlin feeling his heart sink. Arthur affected an accent. "Ooh arr. I done seen no one, I have. Apples and Cider. 'Ave a nice day."

Merlin nearly turned away, seized by the sudden, irrepressible urge to roll his eyes. He managed to restrain himself, however, and recovered enough to meet the somewhat incredulous stare of the Captain, following it as it travelled over Arthur and down the King's arm to land on his hand clamped tightly around Arthur's wrist.

With a serious expression, he took a step forward and raised his and Arthur's arms. "He's an idiot." He explained, barely flinching under the withering look Arthur threw him.

The King did not protest, however much he probably wanted to kill Merlin, but put on a wide, bright grin, and nodded enthusiastically. He recognised this particular gambit, and the benefit it had afforded in the past, and may well do now.

Gaheris eyed them a moment longer, before huffing loudly. He gestured for one of his men to come forward.

A patrol man approached, dragging a bald man with him to unceremoniously be thrown to the ground before Gaheris' horse.

Merlin blinked. He recognised that man – the thief, from the tavern in Engerd. The one who had tried to rob them, and ended up telling them where to find Balinor when Arthur held a sword to his neck.

Gaheris glared down at the prone thief, out of all patience. "Where is he?" The captain barked, gesturing to the gathered villagers.

The thief made a sweep of them with his eyes, his body tensing ever more in fear as he found no sign of King Arthur. "I-I don't know!"

"Well, that's bloody typical, isn't it?"

Merlin frowned, eyeing Gaheris a moment in surprise at that low, irritated murmur, though he himself was not sure why.

"I – He was here! I saw him this very morning with my own eyes!"

"Yet he is not here." With a sneer, Gaheris booted the thief in the shoulder, sending him crashing to the ground. "You have wasted our time." He threw a glance at the man who had brought the thief forward. "Take him to Lot. The King can decide what to do with him."

"No!" The thief struggled to his feet, terror painted all over his face. "Please!"

Gaheris held up his hand and motioned for the men holding the villagers still to move away. "Head East. We will resume our search on the far side of the forest!" He turned his attention on the villagers, and gave a nod. "It appears that in our time being wasted, we have in turn wasted yours. Apologies."

The patrol began to move out, Gaheris wheeling his fine horse around with a small, showy rear. Before he went, he cocked a glance at one of the younger, blonde ladies of the village and clicked his tongue, flicking an eyebrow appreciatively to the shy giggle of the girl, before urging his horse forward into a canter and then a gallop to the head of his men.

None of the villagers moved until the patrol had passed out of the village and into the woods beyond its Eastern border. Even then, motion came slowly as a mixture of surprise and much confused staring at Arthur kept everyone more or less where they had been for several long minutes.

Finally, they began to disperse. Merlin did not notice, collapsing in a heap to sit on the floor and exhale gustily. "That was close."

"Agreed." Arthur watched after the patrol in the direction they had taken, unsure what had just happened. He did not question the blessing. It did make him wonder briefly how much had changed in such a short time if he was suddenly unrecognisable. He would have to question Merlin on it later. His friend was never afraid to tell him if he looked awful. Speaking of awful...

He shoved Merlin hard in the shoulder. "I am NOT an idiot!"

"Not at all."

"Shut-UP!"

Merlin did as he was told for once, not willing to argue further. He felt as though he was drowning in a sea of deep, wonderful relief and utter astonishment. They were both still alive. They were free, and the game was not up. The potions must have worked...

Thoughtful, he raised a hand and turned it over, examining it closely. There did not appear to be a difference. His hand looked the same as it had always done; all long, thin fingers and harassed nails. and Arthur was still plain old Arthur. Though there was definitely and aura of magic around it, and Arthur. He could sense it. Strange.

A warm tingle echoed its way through him, causing him to shudder. Clearly it was _his_ magic. He would know the comforting feel of it anywhere, and yet it felt very much as though coming from an outside source. Surrounded in an aura of magic, whether or not Arthur felt any different was not up for debate. Right now he just looked pensive, and confused. Very confused. Oh dear.

Still, Merlin suppressed the urge to grin. It had worked. It had actually worked! This was great! So very useful. Once the finer points were worked out, the usefulness factor could only continue to go up.

This was good. Merlin did allow himself a smile, then, and shook his head lightly at himself. This was very, very good. He was always happy to have another magical weapon in his ever-growing armoury. This one could be a very valuable one indeed.

"What are you grinning about?" Arthur demanded, his arms folded defensively over his chest, likely surmising it to be something to do with the whole idiot thing. _Why did it always come back to simpletons?_

The servant shook his head. "Nothing," and got to his feet "just happy to be alive."

After a moment's trying to discern the exact cause of that irritating grin, Arthur huffed and reached out to grab Merlin's shoulder and shove him back towards Hunith's house. "Me too. Come on."

"Careful, Arthur." Merlin ducked away from his touch, "wouldn't want everyone thinking you really are an idiot that needs me to guide him everywhere."

"Yes. Well. You'd know all about that, wouldn't you, _Mer_lin?"

Arthur did not wait for what would undoubtedly be a witty and oh so classic retort of the highest calibre, and slung an arm around Merlin's shoulder without protest this time. He did not take note of his own irritating grin, nor the fact that it almost matched Merlin's as they made their way back through the village. Both were glad that they were alive, but quietly, both were equally as glad that the other was alive also.

* * *

Things seemed quiet on Camelot's side of the border. So far none of Lot's men had been foolish enough to cross and cause trouble. That pleased Leon somewhat. His mood had not lifted much. He still had yet to see any sign of Merlin and Arthur. The closer they came to the border, the more prevalent the rumours became. There had indeed been an increase in activity by Lot's army near to the border in recent weeks. Recent days however, had seen the movement of almost the entire army right up to the very edge of Camelot's territory. That did not bode well at all.

Did it mean that Lot was poised for an invasion? Or as part of that plan, that the enemy King knew that Camelot was missing their own King? If that was the case, then how did he know ?

Leon did not want to entertain the most horrible, but also the most likely of those reasons. Arthur was alive. He had to be, or with his forces in position for so many days, Lot would surely have made his move?

As though reading his thoughts, Gwaine piped up. "That Lot's a belligerent old bastard." He muttered, audible to all as they all four rode side by side. "Any excuse to go to war."

They currently made their way through the Forest of Ascetir, having ridden out as a scouting party before sending word back to Guinevere of their findings, and a possible need for reinforcements. The Queen had been reluctant to send the whole army for fear that such an action may provoke war if Lot deemed it one of aggression, which he most certainly would. Also, she wanted to keep open the option of a quiet operation into enemy territory with only a small band of men to retrieve Arthur if he should have gotten caught behind enemy lines. Something Leon agreed with wholeheartedly.

Quiet was the word, and yet, Gwaine was with them.

"It sounds like you know something." Elyan observed of his rowdy friend, a smile on his face despite the nature of their quest. "Been on the wrong side of him before, have we?"

Gwaine flicked his hair, giving a restrained smile. "He's a King. Name one I haven't been on the wrong side of."

Leon almost chuckled with the others, but refrained. He ought to have expected it, really. He had not been surprised to find Gwaine waiting at the gates of Camelot, already mounted up and prepared to leave when the original party of just himself and Elyan had set out two days ago.

"You know me," Gwaine had said in that passive, airy-fairy way of his, "never one to miss a party."

They had found Percival in the woods a little further on, 'mushrooming'. Whilst fully armed. Saddlebags stocked with supplies and strapped up with all the gear he would need to make camp.

"Dangerous business, 'mushrooming'." He had joked. "Need to be prepared."

So they were all bound for the border together, in a much larger scouting party than originally envisioned, venturing closer and closer to the border.

And all the way, Gwaine had been uncharacteristically quiet.

Until now.

Leon found himself asking, a small smirk creeping onto his face despite himself, "Did he banish you as well?"

"Never been banished from Essetir, yet."

"What of his other lands?"

"Are you suggesting banishment travels?" Gwaine tilted his head. "Because I had never considered that."

After a brief, shared chuckle, the Knights of the Round Table sobered, and continued on a little further in silence.

"So what _do_ you know of him?" Elyan pressed, side-eyeing the most unorthodox of Camelot's unorthodox knights.

"Enough."

"Gwaine."

"Give us something." Percival joined in.

Gwaine shrugged. "What do you want? Rumour has it the man's a furious old boar. Quick to anger and too fond of a drink and a skirmish."

Percival snorted, raising laughter from his fellows. "Sounds familiar."

Gwaine pressed his lips together against a smile that was not wholly unsuccessful in escaping. "I suppose I deserved that."

Leon smirked, reining in his giggles. He ran a hand over his mouth to wipe away any remaining image of mirth, and joined his brothers' line of questioning. "In all seriousness, Gwaine." He began, voice only a little shaky with amusement. "Tell us what you know. Give us some idea of our enemy."

Until now, Camelot had had very little contact or need to engage with Lot and his regime. They had sent an envoy when Essetir had been conquered, and the tremulous regime instated by Cenred's younger brother unceremoniously crushed beneath Lot's heel, but after a non-committal yet peaceful exchange, no more had really been said. Little was known about the warrior King, other than the quiet, and uneasy rumours that he may harbour designs on Camelot.

Though whilst Arthur sat upon the throne, Lot's army was neither as strong, nor as driven as Camelot's. With Arthur missing, however...

"It's all conjecture," Gwaine began flippantly, "my dealings with him were brief, during my travels on Morcades. Like I say, he's a bad-tempered, hairy old bull of a man more interested in land-grabbing than in the interests of his own people. It's his way, or not at all."

"And for you it was not at all?" Elyan queried, eyebrows raised playfully.

"Pretty much."

"And his army?" Leon drew Gwaine's attention back to the seriousness of the situation.

"Like they say. Large. Vicious. Lot is their King and commander, yet much of their campaign South has been led by Gaheris, the King's oldest son."

"I heard that he has three sons." Elyan interjected.

Gwaine shook his head, that pressed lip smile on his face once again. "Nah. Two and a daughter."

With a cheeky grin, Percival threw a sneaky glance at his rough friend. "Have anything to do with your banishment, did she?"

To the surprise of all, Gwaine snorted in disgust and grimaced. "I think not." He went on without prompting, nor changing his expression, "A nasty creature, that Clarissant. Small, and prickly, with a face like a vomiting dog and the personality of a riled badger. She on her own is bad enough. Any man makes advances towards her, and Lot would surely have the man in question's head."

"And the other son?" Leon questioned, thoughtful.

"Gareth? Nothing to write home about. More interested in his books than the waging of war. He puts up a front for those willing to give him the time of day, but he's all bark and no bite. A waif in wolf's clothing, and ill-fitting clothing at that."

"You seem to know a lot about them." Elyan observed with a frown.

"Hardly secret. They like to make themselves known in their lands. That's why I endeavour to stay faaar awaaay."

The knights rode on in silence for a while, winding their way through the forest on the lookout for bandits, or any stray soldiers out for a spot of leisurely trespassing. It was not until they began travelling up the hill cresting the ridge, and the border that Leon held up a hand and halted them.

"What is it?"

"Listen." Leon quietened Elyan, sitting still and upright on his horse.

His three fellows did the same. They strained their ears, searching out any sound in the still forest.

There was none.

"This is not good." Gwaine murmured, agreed with by all though they did not speak.

Leon nudged his horse forward into a trot. "Come on."

He led the way up the hill, narrowing his eyes on the tree line ahead. That silence still remained, heavy, and oppressive in the late afternoon air. The undergrowth beneath his mare's hooves began to change, becoming thick, and rough with moss and heather, and short fronds of browned and dying bracken. He kept his mind on his sword, wary of any surprises as the edge of the trees neared.

The closer he drew, the more aware he became of faint sound rising on the far side, channelled upwards.

The other knights drew level with him. And together they broke the tree line out onto the ground atop the ridge of Essetir.

What they saw pulled them up short.

Below, at the edge of the forests bordering Camelot's lands the shine of maille, flash of swords handled in preparation and the smoke of numerous camp fires rose into the warm air. With it rose the hubbub of an army gathered, ready for war.

Leon felt his stomach clench. As far as the eye could see North and South, Lot's army occupied the borderlands, spread out like a net right along the approach up to the ridge itself. He did not know how to respond, cold fear settling itself heavily on his chest.

Men in their thousands, all merely yards from Camelot's border. All ready for battle. The others of Arthur's first Round Table stared, silent and stunned as Leon did.

It was Gwaine to break the hefty silence. "Well then." He said with a slight jerk of his head. "A party indeed. Glad I came along."

* * *

It had been a moderately successful afternoon. Following the excitement in the village, and the utter euphoria at realising the potion's success, Merlin had rather enjoyed the hours of threshing and winnowing that followed. Arthur had actually joined in wholeheartedly. Probably a resurgence of humility after the villagers' refusal to hand him over to the patrol. Now both of them were more or less dead on their feet and ready for a hot meal and then bed.

Hunith had gone out and caught a chicken herself while the boys toiled in the fields, and was in the process of boiling it. At a loss, and with a couple of hours to spare until dinner, Merlin and Arthur had set out to occupy themselves.

So they sat at the edge of the village's stream, a makeshift fishing rod clutched in their respective hands, enjoying the warm and glorious evening.

For a long time they had sat silent, content to be tired and to bask in the sun. At some point, one of them had broken the silence, and a a game had developed between them.

"There." Arthur pointed to a wisp of smoke rising over the distant trees.

Merlin considered it carefully. "A league and a half." He murmured, eyes narrowed in careful consideration. "Looks like... cooking?" He nodded, certain. "A camp fire."

Arthur smiled, full of approval. "Very good, Merlin."

The gangly servant beamed, and glanced around. He turned, almost unseating himself from the stream bank as he looked behind. "That one." He nodded towards a veritable billow, rising in the East behind the village.

"Two leagues." Arthur answered immediately. "Looks like a forge."

Merlin pinched his eyebrows together. "Great. Clearly they don't have enough weapons to kill us with."

"They're probably for me." Arthur blurted off-handedly. "They want to torture you, remember?"

Merlin's shoulders slumped. "Thanks."

Arthur gave a bright grin. "Any time."

They returned to fishing in silence, both enjoying the other's company, thought neither would say so.

Arthur was probably lost to his own thoughts, such as they were. Merlin knew that his friend had been missing Gwen. Since their marriage, they had spent very little time apart. It must be hard, not knowing the fate of the other while that other was thoroughly unable to relay news of their fate.

He himself missed Gaius. Though... definitely not in the same way.

His shoulders slumped further.

They must know that something had happened by now, back at Camelot. They must, and they must be worried.

Still Arthur had not found anybody willing to carry a message to Camelot for him. To his credit, Arthur had not complained. He had no grounds to when these people were risking their village and their lives allowing him to shelter with them.

The fact remained that they needed to contact Camelot. If not, then the knights would be heading straight into a trap. Even if it _was_ one designed for Arthur to blunder into. They had to be warned. The question was how?

No villager would take a message. Kilgarrah would, but he simply could not. Merlin knew that he himself could not risk leaving Arthur. Without his constant supervision, Arthur would likely be captured by nightfall.

There had to be another way.

So lost in thought was he, that he did not realise that he stared at his hands where they clutched his fishing rod. As his eyes and thoughts came to focus on them, a small smile began to tug at the corners of his mouth. Maybe he did know a way?

His smile increased, becoming a smirk of almost Morgana-esque proportions.

What if it didn't have to be Gwen, or the knights to receive a message? It had to be someone he trusted, certainly, but what if that was somebody who knew his secret?

After all, if he could not send a message by orthodox means, then why not send it by magic? There had always been plenty of ravens frequenting the land around Ealdor. One of them could surely be persuaded to help? If they would assist other magic users by carrying messages, then why not him? He was Emrys, after all.

"What are you grinning at now?"

Arthur's voice shocked him out of it. "Hm?"

"You," Arthur looked at him "sitting there with that inane grin on your face again. What is it this time?"

"Oh." Merlin wiped the smile away and shrugged a shoulder dismissively. "Just thinking."

The look Arthur had been sending him morphed from one of curiousity into one of surprise. "You? Thinking?"

"Yeah."

"Don't be so ridiculous, Merlin. You don't think. You know that."

A look of rather staged hurt crossed Merlin's face. "I do."

"Alright. What were you thinking about?"

"You know." Merlin hunched his shoulders, focusing back on his fishing rod. "How we're probably not going to catch anything. Our worms have died."

Arthur rolled his eyes, and leant back a little, sneaking his hand around to his idiot's back. "Well, you know what they say, Merlin." The best way to fish-" before Merlin realised what was going on Arthur planted his palm squarely between his shoulder blades and shoved him, sending him pitching forwards into the stream "- is with live bait!"

At the sight of a sopping wet Merlin scrambling to his feet in the chest deep stream, Arthur lost any kingly composure he may have possessed and doubled over laughing.

He missed the way Merlin flicked out his sleeves, and he missed the irritated expression on his friend's face. He also missed it when the irritation became a grin, only realised when Merlin grabbed his ankle and dragged him from the bank.

With a high-pitched 'NO!' and a bout of ineffective kicking, Arthur slipped from his seat on the grass and crashed down into the stream with an enormous splash! He surfaced flailing and spluttering, grasping blindly for a suddenly very absent Merlin to pummel. Every attempt missed as said Merlin was out of reach, scrambling up onto the bank to take off running.

Arthur found his feet suddenly and stood, swiping excess water from his face to see his saturated servant bolting up the path towards his mother's house as fast as his pathetic skinny legs would allow.

"MERLIN!"

He clambered out of the stream and gave chase, holding back his laughter in favour of a hearty snarl.

People moved aside for the fleeing servant and Camelot's graceful and just King, all watching after the boys as they passed; Merlin laughing his head off, Arthur roaring like an angry bear intent on bloody murder.

While they should have been surprised on some level, it just passed them by as they lifted baskets of washing above blonde and black-haired heads, or swung out the way without a second thought. The strangeness of the situation just passed right over their heads with the old and tested explanation for anything slightly out of the ordinary that happened in the village – 'It's Merlin.' For twenty-five years that had been the most logical explanation for anything out of the ordinary, or irritating that occurred in Ealdor, and so it held. At this display, most of the elder denizens just shook their heads and carried on with what they had been doing.

Merlin shifted it along the well-worn path as quickly as his legs could carry him. He knew that speed for speed he was faster than Arthur. The King was physically stronger, but he was himself – what was it Gwaine had called him? - a 'racing snake'. He was built for speed, not strength.

Unfortunately, while that was what nature had intended for him, he did not have the co-ordination to carry it off. Thus, rounding the corner to his mother's house, his feet caught one another and sent him sprawling to the ground. Before he could organise his limbs and get up, Arthur was on him. Because the King _was_ fast. Just not as fast as him.

"Get off!"

Arthur paid him no attention, a manic grin on his face as he rolled Merlin purposefully in the dust. "No regrets, _Mer_lin!?" he crowed, dumping his wet and now muddy manservant front-down on the ground and bending the idiot's thin arm lightly up behind his bony back. Honestly, Merlin could slice bread with that backbone.

"Arthur!"

"Do you yield?!"

"Get off me, dollphead!"

Arthur took that as a yes and released him. As he moved to stand, Merlin swiped one of his legs out from under him and set on him, managing to grab him in a headlock.

"Merlin!"

Before Arthur could find enough purchase on the ground to push himself up, Merlin wound his long legs through Arthur's and clung on like some form of very annoying human rope. It was a good move, that should have had the King bang to rights, and would have, should Arthur not have decided to start rolling on him.

That was how Luke found them.

Unsure of quite how to approach the situation, the young farmer took up a lean on the chestnut fence and watched Camelot's esteemed King wrestling with Merlin, counting idly each new chicken feather the boys picked up in their hair and on their clothes, waiting patiently for an opening to announce his presence.

As soon as he saw it, he cleared his throat loudly. "'Evening, Majesty. Merlin."

Arthur looked round, surprised. The silliness of the situation struck him suddenly, yet he neglected to move despite the fact that it was highly improper for the King of Camelot to be upon the ground with one knee in his manservant's back, one hand pinning said manservant's head to the ground by his cheek, and certainly not so covered in detritus and filth that his hair stuck up stiff with mud and dust and chicken feathers. He supposed that he _had_ been locked in combat, which made the whole thing suddenly less embarrassing.

Plus, Merlin deserved it.

"Ah, Luke. What can I do for you?"

"Begging your pardon, Sire, but I was just-" Luke paused, and swallowed a chuckle as Merlin's hand came up and began slapping ineffectually at Arthur's face. "-I was just wondering if the pair of you would like to join us? Some of the lads are getting together for a drink. It's been a long day and that."

A large grin adorned Arthur's face, even as he jerked his head away from Merlin's weakly slapping hand and spat where one of the servant's fingers had accidentally found its way into his mouth. "Of course. We would be honoured. Wouldn't we, Merlin?"

"Mmrph."

"Wonderful."

Luke nodded. "I'll let the others know."

"Brilliant."

Arthur grinned at Luke all the time the boy retreated, even during the surprised and slightly worried glances that Luke kept throwing over his shoulder. Finally, once Luke had disappeared from sight behind a house, Arthur released Merlin and collapsed to sit on the ground beside his flattened best friend.

"Isn't that nice?"

"Pretty customary." Merlin answered, rolling onto his back and resting a hand on his chest. "During harvest time."

"I mean to be invited, idiot."

"Oh. Yeah. S'nice." He craned his head back to look up at Arthur. "Are you going to go?"

The King nodded. "Of course. There are a few hours until dinner. This is a chance to get to know the people who are risking their lives for me."

Merlin didn't say anything to that. He merely smiled, and rolled his head against the ground to stare up at the golden sky once more.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "What _is_ it?"

"Hmm?"

"That stupid smile on your face. What now?"

"Nothing."

Clearly not believed. Arthur picked up a discarded tail feather belonging to a chicken of unknown identity and stuck the end in Merlin's frankly ridiculous ear. "Come on. What?"

"Ah!" Merlin rolled away that he could escape the horrid tickling and prop himself up on his elbows on his front. "Just thinking-"

"Again?"

" - That it's what sets you apart from other Kings. That's all."

"Hm." Arthur dropped his grin, but not the feather. At Merlin's words, he began twirling the feather between thumb and forefinger, picking at the fluffy end thoughtlessly. "It's not right, to disregard the people who serve you. When they are risking their lives to do so..." He shrugged, focused on his twirling feather. "... Well. That loyalty should be deserved. It should be earnt."

"That is why we risk our lives for you, Arthur." Merlin answered, all hints of mirth gone. The 'we' was not missed. "There is no man in Camelot who would not give his life for you."

"We're not in Camelot, are we, Merlin?"

"No." The servant shook his head. "We're in my village. A village outside your lands that you risked your life to defend. Everyone here would give their life for yours, because you were prepared to give yours for them." Merlin turned his eyes down on the ground, and followed the progress of an ant closely. "And so would I."

Arthur did not say anything for a moment. He stared at his feather, completely fascinated by it as though it held the answer to some particularly taxing riddle and was refusing to tell him. At last, he swallowed and shook his head slowly. "Don't do that."

Merlin looked up at him with a frown. "Do what?"

"Give your life for me." Arthur pulled his attention away from his feather and set it on Merlin. There was a seriousness to his expression that always made Merlin's blood run cold; that always preluded something that Arthur truly meant. "I told you once, that if anything happened to me, you were to look after Guinevere. I stand by that, Merlin." He took a deep breath, and held it a moment before exhaling quickly. "If I don't get out of this, then I want you to swear to me. You won't don't anything stupid. You will get yourself back to Camelot alive, by whatever means necessary. You will look after Gwen, and serve her with the same loyalty you have always shown me."

"Arthur-"

"Swear to me."

Merlin was silent a moment, watching his King carefully. Quietly. He nodded. "I swear."

Arthur returned the nod, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. "Good." He returned Merlin's regard and nodded again, reaching to clap a hand on his friend's slight shoulder and shake it lightly. "... Good."

He let his hand fall away, back to pick at his twirling feather.

They sat silent then, something of an atmosphere around them. Arthur broke the silence, looking up from his feather to discard it casually to the dust and look in the direction Luke had disappeared off in. He cleared his throat. "Well, then. Better get changed and go enjoy a drink.

"Yeah." Merlin got to his feet and cricked his back, Arthur standing also and hopping on the spot to dispel pins and needles in one of his feet.

The conversation had left a definite dampener on both of their moods. Together they headed inside, one with an evening of fun and merriment in mind before facing the issue of escape once more, the other concerned with facilitating that escape. By almost any means necessary...

* * *

**As promised, posted a few days later! Hope it lives up to expectations :3 Stuff is starting to happen slowly. **

**So, the potions are back, and gone. The spell that Merlin used to make them in chapter four:**

_**Béon ondælende eae sé gif sylfym dierneu. Ætlúte sé treów. Néade min feond æt wálá sé léonspell - Be infused with the gift of secrets. Hide the truth. Compel my enemies to see the lie/fiction. **_

_******Exactly how they work will be explained.**_

**Had to get out my big notebook of spells to remind myself of what that meant. Spells for all occasions! translated badly and as needed depending on writing requirements. Gives you an idea of how much Merlin stuff I've actually written and not got round to putting up or not entirely finished to do so yet that I have a book of spells that can be used for these stories. Magic notes also, and tea leaf and coffee ground reading, Arthurian legend tidbits, and various old poems and rhymes pertaining to tree lore etc, and other things my mum taught me. My place is a sea of paper and old hard drives packed with stories of all shapes and sizes. I have the Merlin bug at the minute, though, so they must languish. On the bright side, my Saxon vocab is quite good, though grammar and syntax is terrible. I'll stick to my native tongues for conversation, I think ;) Enough whittering from me. Let me know what you thought!  
**


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